LITTLE PLAYS OP ST. FRANCIS 

Incidental Music by Rutland Boughton 

is obtainable from 

Messrs. Stainer & Bell, Ltd. 

58 Berners Street, London, W. 1 

to whom enquiries should be addressed. 



Applications regarding the amateur acting rights 

of these plays should be made to the Secretary, 

Incorporated Society of Authors, 1 Central 

Buildings, Westminster, London, S. W. 1. 



The following Little Plays are also issued 
separately as shilling booklets : — 

Fellow-Pbisonbrs The Lepers 

The Builders Brother Sun 

Brother Wolf Brother Juniper 

Sister Clare Sister Death 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

Followers of St. Francis. Four One-Act 
Plays, uniform with Little Plays oj 
St. Francis. 

Saint Francis Poverello. (Messages of 

the Saints.) 
Selected Poems. 

The Wheel : a Dramatic Trilogy. 
The Death of Orpheus : a Play. 
Pains and Penalties : a Play. 
The Chinese Lantern : a Play. 

With H. Granville- Barker 

Prunella^ or Love in a Dutch Garden : 

a Play. 

Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd., London 



LITTLE PLAYS of St. FRANCIS 

A Dramatic Cycle from the Life and 

Legend of St. Francis of Assisi, by 

LAURENCE HOUSMAN 




With a Preface by H. 
GRANVILLE-BARKER 



Boston 
Small Maynard & Company 



»^I.X^ 



'f?^?^v 






H'^j^i^^ 






Made and printed in Great Britain. 



CONTENTS 

PAQB 

Preface by H. Granvillb-Barker . , . . vii 
Author's Preface . xvii 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Dramatis Persons ........ xxi 

PART I— THE FOREGOING 

The Revellers 3 

Fellow-Prisoners .21 

Brief Life 39 

Blind Eyes . 51 

The Bride Feast 63 

Our Lady of Poverty 81 

PART 11— THE FOLLOWING 

The Builders . .99 

Brother Wolf 125 

Sister Clare 143 

The Lepers ......... 167 

Sister Gold 173 

Brother Sun 197 

V 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PART III— THE FINDING 

PAGE 

The Chapter 213 

Brother Juniper 227 

Brother Elias 239 

The Seraphic Vision 249 

Brother Sin 259 

Sister Death .•••»•••• 267 



PREFACE 

There is an art of the theatre and there is a 
theatrical industry, and it is absurd to expect 
that the interests of the two can be continuously 
identical ; it is dijfificult, rather, to see why now- 
adays they should ever coincide. Consider for a 
moment the current conditions of the industry as 
they are dominated by the London market. High 
rents, high rates, special taxes, high wages, high 
prices, the pleasure-affording public largely such 
a shifting one that its attraction demands much 
expenditure in advertisement and agency fees — 
what wonder that the man of business, trying to 
deal fairly with hard-to-come-by capital, protests 
that he can only afford to traffic in goods which 
will attract the greatest number of people to a 
highly purchased enjoyment of them in the shortest 
possible time ? 

The sophisticated in such matters, then, will not 
expect even the most enterprising London manager 
to pounce upon this sequence of plays setting forth 
the life of St. Francis of Assisi as a successor to 
— ^his latest failure. Is he to be blamed for that ? 
He may have dropped thousands this past year in 
exploiting what seemed the safest sort of goods, 
vii 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

plays that need tax no one's intelligence, disturb 
no one's complacency, upset no digestion. But, 
suppose he did venture, for a change, upon a 
religious revue, could he look to see the patient 
pittites lined up in their hundreds or to hear from 
his office during the next few months the pleasing 
sound of the nightly stampede for taxis, buses, and 
trains of a crowd purged by the pity and terror of 
a three hours' contemplation of this life given to 
God ? It is, of course, unlikely ; though, even in the 
theatrical industry, stranger things have happened. 

Mr. Housman himself — ^as experienced in the 
industry as he is practised in the art — ^probably 
does not envisage any such immediate fate for 
these plays. But we must not conclude because of 
this, and because they make their first bow to the 
public from the printed book, that they are there- 
fore undramatic, merely literary, more fitted for 
the study than the stage — ^because they have not 
been fitted to the Procrustean bed of the commercial 
theatre. And, while a theatrical generation ago some 
critics might have thought to couch praise in such 
terms, to-day (alas for the theatre !) it is equally 
foolish to use them as blame. 

For there is now another theatre towards which 
the most practical dramatists may advisedly turn 
their eyes. It is not — ^it can never be — a financial 
lucky-bag ; no syndicates will exploit it, landlords 
and ticket agents will regard it with indifference, 
viii 



PREFACE 

To-day, truly, is its day of small things. But on 
that account alone it is proverbially not to be 
despised. Besides, the small things are multi- 
tudinous ; and they show promise of many and 
various morrows. 

Some twenty-five to fifty years ago there began 
(you may date its beginning according to your 
particular sympathies) a so-called renascence of 
the English drama. If the birth was painful, the 
bringing -up has not been easy, and the problem of 
putting this new heir of the ages out into the world 
(so to speak) is yet to be solved. There seems little 
present chance of a solution upon what are called 
business-like lines, and even less in any appeal 
to the State or to private wealth for endowment 
and subsidy. If a national theatre will cost half 
a million, a national theatre may go hang. If to 
show school-children Shakespeare is to burden the 
rates with a few thousands extra a year, he may 
abide for them in his printed and annotated prison 
(save for the chance that a teacher or two of talent 
may be able to rescue him unaided), and the children 
may abide in their weary wonder at all this blank 
versifying and conglomeration of queer words being 
called, of all things in the world, a play. And 
what cannot be conceded to such a respectable 
fetish as Shakespeare it will certainly be worse than 
a waste of time to advocate for any merely con- 
temporary art. Besides (we shall be told) Shake- 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

speare's plays had no cockering at their birth in 
the shape of subsidies and official patronage, and 
they flourished in native unconstrained vigour. 
But where are now the dramatic nurslings of the 
Universities, where even is rare Ben Jonson ? The 
argument is impeachable. But why argue ? For 
it is at least true that, whatever endowment may 
or may not do, talk keeps no art alive. And it is 
also a fair question whether the demonstration of 
a dramatic renascence made during these last 
twenty-five to fifty years by a few hundred 
faithful workers, supported with intermittent 
enthusiasm by a few thousands of the public 
— subsidised, in a sense, indeed — has not failed. 
Well, one might admit it, so far as to admit that 
the great heart of the people has remained un- 
touched, that to-day one may stop half a dozen 
men at random in the streets of Newcastle or 
Huddersfield and question them upon the achieve- 
ments of the modern English theatre, to find them 
not only abysmally ignorant but absolutely indif- 
ferent about the matter. But there are failures 
more fruitful than success ; and we, the public, may 
perhaps face the London manager's balance-sheet 
of a three years' consistent trial of the ' serious ' 
drama with more equanimity (though naturally he 
will not !) if we will look elsewhere for the victory 
in that rather heart-breaking struggle. 

It is certainly true that under present industrial 



PREFACE 

conditions the best modern drama cannot flourish 
(apart from a few strokes of luck and by a constant 
searching for novelty and still more novelty) in any 
representative variety in the West End of London, 
and that this inhibition takes reflexive effect 
throughout the country. There is the failure. 
The success lies in the upspringing all over England 
of bodies of people so hungry for a little simple, 
wholesome, unhocussed dramatic art, that, denied 
it by the professional providers, they are ready to 
see to the supply themselves. That they now know 
what they want, where to find it and how to bring 
it to full being — ^these are the true fruits, so far, 
of our English dramatic renascence. We have no 
national theatre, and the best of our modern plays 
— each having had, be it said, one hard, if not long, 
run for its life — lie, most of the time, dusty on 
bookshelves. But there is hardly a town or a 
district of villages in England to-day that does 
not hold some collection of young men and women 
who, with their workaday world behind them, set 
out, now and then, to adventure together into the 
wider mimic life, for the deeper sympathetic experi- 
ence that they can find in this simple art of acting. 
Amateur dramatic societies, it is true, have 
existed for years by the hundred, with their 
seasonal exhibitions, in which ' local talent,' for 
the ostensible benefit of local charities, matched 
itself against London originals in the latest pro- 
xi 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

curable London success. But these new associa- 
tions have different aims and are of a different 
temper. They have as a rule much contempt for 
the commercial theatre, more indeed than befits 
their ignorance of its difficulties and its dormant 
virtues. They read the modern ' bookshelf ' drama 
and discuss it, rightly enough, with very critical 
tongues. But their chief anxiety is to stand clean 
upon their own theatrical feet. The surest of them 
may disdain to derive their drama from anything 
but their own expressive selves ; they will both write 
their plays and act them, paint their scenery and 
make the costumes, be their own audience too if 
necessary. Here, though — ^for all the theoretic 
merit — ^is but a small circle to revolve in. Others 
are content to turn their eyes outward for plays at 
least. But they will often look, if they are wise, 
for plays that are not modelled to the complexities 
and the sophistication of the professional stage. 
These — only the very best, of course! — ^might 
be good enough for them, but when playing 
becomes the question, too much of a good thing 
besides. It is true, also, that even the most 
radical writer, having reasonably enough an eye 
upon the conditions of his work's first employ- 
ment, does tend to a set and limited scope of form 
and content — ^to one, moreover, that may be both 
positively and negatively unsuitable to groups of 
amateurs. For material resources they cannot 
xii 



PREFACE 

command ; but, on the other hand, they are free 
from professional obligations as to subject, length, 
balance of cast, and half a dozen other minor things. 

But here is a theatre for which any dramatist 
of to-day, with his eye upon the immediate to- 
morrow, may well sit down to write. In collective 
importance, in the persistent or recurrent interest 
it may show in his work, it can already rival for 
him the more exacting and capricious professional 
stage. And it promises to develop in these two 
directions, among others : one, of variety of 
interest, for another, in positive tastes. 

To have an audience that liked everything would 
be the enterprising manager's ideal. To cater for 
a public that tolerates anything, as long as it is 
mildly entertained, is debilitating to a degree. 
This, though, is one of the curses laid on the 
London theatre. The integrated audience (such as 
it was) has now broken up, with the upbreaking of 
many things more. And the manager, trying to 
divine the public taste — searching the entrails of 
many plays for the purpose — can but come to the 
despairing conclusion that, as there is no such com- 
prehensible thing as a public, neither has it any defin- 
able taste. Wherefore, if he have none of his own, 
he revolves through chaos to prompt retirement on 
a run of luck, or bankruptcy. But these smaller, 
closer-knit units of so-called amateur interest in 
drama can form concrete opinions, can also, to 
xiii 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

some intelligible extent, express them. They are 
the right soil, then, for experiment. A failure to 
please is not a catastrophe. Moreover, the selective 
process by which some band of enthusiasts has just 
separated itself upon this matter from its neigh- 
bours (later to recruit from them) will continue in 
the discovery of its own particular capacities for 
adventure. And drama opens a wide field. 

Now it cannot fail to strike one how perfectly 
— ^whether by accident or design — ^Mr. Housman 
has provided in this sequence of plays for the 
needs and ambitions of such players. The multiple 
unit is a most useful economic form. You may 
pass from your single play to your section and 
later accumulate resources to capture the whole 
work without any waste labour. More importantly, 
here is religious drama ; and — if one may beg a ques- 
tion which each reader may claim to answer for 
himself — drama that is religious not in name only. 

It is surely a very salient sign both of our new 
drama's vitality and of the fact we have alleged 
that its life is now truly a part of the people's life, 
when it turns — and quite simply and normally 
turns — ^to religion for a topic. For a topic, in that 
here we have living religion, not dead. The dress 
may be twelfth century, but if the faith were not 
alive and the thought immediate, neither would 
pass the dramatic test to which Mr. Housman has 
boldly put them. But let half a dozen actors, 
xiv 



PREFACE 

thinking more of their art than of themselves, and 
for the time being more of St. Francis than of either 
— let them give such life as is in them to any one of 
these plays, and (preface-writer's partiality apart) 
they will find without fail that the life of the play's 
art and the intenser life of its purpose will give 
increase tenfold. For — ^passing the test — that is 
drama's achievement and reward. 

There are occasional signs that the Church in 
England is now bethinking her of what a weapon she 
threw away when she gave the theatre the go-by. 
She will not capture it again ; it has a salvation 
of its own to pursue. But the drama may still offer 
her service ; even though, in this study of the life 
and death of St. Francis, it be rather in despite of 
her more official moods. One sees, very shortly, 
a Guild of the Players of St. Francis being formed, 
with these plays for its text-book. Will they 
tramp, bare -footed and brown -fro eked, round the 
English country as their prototypes tramped Italy ? 
A char-a-banc, with an attendant lorry, might be 
allowable. They will be welcome for certain. 
They had better be ready to play in a tent by the 
roadside. But, as often as not, the parson may 
come out to meet them. 

HARLEY GRANVILLE-BARKER. 



XV 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE 

The life of St. Francis of Assisi has come to us 
as much through legend as through history ; and 
many tales of him which help to give us his living 
character are not only without historical proof, 
but may, strictly speaking, be untrue. To this 
mixed material the dramatist and the student 
stand in different relations ; and while the latter 
does well to search for whatever authenticity may 
lie at the back of legend, the former has mainly 
to consider what is, or what is not in character, 
and will accept whole-heartedly any legendary 
material which serves to give life to his subject, 
or illustration to its main motive. 

But he may, in the pursuit of dramatic values, 
go even further, and feel as little bound to legendary 
as to historical detail, if — as in the case of these 
plays — his main purpose is to present a spiritual 
interpretation of character. And so it has come 
about that many of the incidents round which 
these plays were written are purely imaginary ; 
and, where they are not, they rest only lightly on 
any actual record of events. 

Thus, in Part I., three historical facts — the 
xvii 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

imprisonment of Francis in Perugia, his subsequent 
illness and recovery, and his encounter with the 
leper — are used to give connection to a series of 
dramatic incidents which have otherwise no basis 
in history. In the play entitled ' Brother Wolf ' 
I have gone back on legend, accepting the sugges- 
tion of the ' rationalists ' that the wolf was really 
a man. In ' Brother Sun ' I have omitted the 
ordeal by fire which Francis is reputed to have 
claimed as a test of his mission. In ' The Chapter ' 
I have combined for dramatic purposes events 
which took place in two different years. In ' Sister 
Death ' I have dramatised, in a scene of threatened 
violence, the really existing jealousy between the 
citizens and the ecclesiastical authorities over the 
possession and disposal of the Saint's remains, 
whereas the only violence actually recorded 
occurred some while after his death. In doing so 
I have not taken more liberty with history than 
other dramatists of historical events have made 
customary. History is, indeed, the greatest of all 
works of fiction : and even its official and con- 
temporary records lead us — and often are intended 
to lead us — very far from the truth. 

On one point I have to admit an inconsistency 
from which I saw no satisfactory way of escape. 
In these plays, covering three phases of his career, 
I have given my chief character two names : in 
the first part he is ' Fi-ancesco,' an Italian like all 
xviii 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE 

the rest. After his ' conversion ' he becomes the 
' Francis ' to which English ears are famihar. 
Also to Brother Juniper I have given the name 
by which we know him. A dramatist has often 
to take what sounds best to the ear. Having to 
choose between ' Father Francesco ' and ' Father 
Francis,' I took what seemed the natural course 
and named him as he is best known ; whereas 
in those earlier incidents of youth, where he was 
but a leader of frolic and fashion, his Italian name 
seemed to suit best. Aiming at naturalness in each 
case, I have let consistency go. 

Not all of these plays are intended primarily for 
the stage — not at least for the stage as it exists 
to-day ; they have nevertheless all been written 
with an underlying sense of stage requirements 
and stage effect; and some of them depend so 
much on these that it is with some regret that I 
place them before readers instead of before an 
audience. 

L. H. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Francesco Bernardone 




. St. Francis of Assisi. 


PiETRo Bernardone 




Hisfather. 


Lucio Leone . His 


friena 


I : afterwards Brother Leo. 


RUDOLFO 




. His rival. 


Uberto . 






RiNALDO . 






Paolo 




- His companions. 


Giovanni 




, 


Antonia 




Betrothed to Lucio. 


Baldone 




Her father. 


LUCREZIA 




. Her kinstvoman. 


Arnolfo 




. Father of Lucio. 


Margherita . 




Queen of Beauty. 


ISOLA . . . . 




, 


Julia . . . . 




Y Her attendants. 


Laura . . . . 




. J 


Clara da Sciffi 




. St. Clare. 


GlACOMINA DA SeTTISOLI 




A Roman lady of rank. 


POMPILIO 




. A Commissary. 


Lupo . . . . 




. A robber chief. 


Cecco . . . . 




^ 




Bartol . . . . 








Giuseppe. 






His followers. 


Bastiano 




• 





XXI 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

The Podesta .... Chief Magistrate of Assist. 
Sold AN ..,..,, King of Egypt. 
DoM SiLVESTRo . . . , . , A PHest. 
An Old Miser. 
A Merchant. 
A Nurse. 
A Goat-Boy. 

Brothers of the Franciscan Order : 

Leo, Bernard, Juniper, Elias, Anthony, Simon, 
RuFUS, Humble, Illuminato, Pacifico, John, 
Conrad, Giles, Jerome, Angelo, Matteo. 

Citizens, Soldiers, Saracens, Slaves, Gaolers, Beggars, Robbers, 

Lepers, Feasants, Masqueraders, Musicians, Revellers, 

and Friars. 



XXll 



PART I 
THE FOREGOING 



THE REVELLERS. 
FELLOAV-PRISONERS. 
BRIEF LIFE. 



BLIND EYES. 

THE BRIDE FEAST. 

OUR LADY OF POVERTY. 



THE REVELLERS 




It is night in Assisi, and 
the moon, high in heaven, 
blazes down into the small 
square with its stone foun- 
tain, upon which narrow 
streets converge. To one 
side rises the gaunt wall of a 
church, under which the 
fountain lies completely in 
shadow. On the opposite 
side {corner to a street) 
stands a deeply - recessed 
door; above it projects a small window. At the back of the scene 
is the door of another and larger house. When the scene opens, 
Lucio is discovered below the window o/'Antonia. 

Lucio. If it be true, confirm it yet again ! 
Give me to know that silence shall mean faith : 
That not Rudolfo's, nor Francesco's love 
Weighs in the scales with mine. 

ANTONiA. I swear, I swear 

I love thee, Lucio. 

LUCIO. Witness to it, O moon ! 

And let that uttered music of her breath. 
Which from this earth doth rise, be in thy keeping 
Henceforth for ever ! 

ANTONIA. Hush ! no more : away ! 

Our secret keeps. I '11 look on thee by day. 
And know thee not. Good night, Lucio, good night ! 
[She withdraws : her light is seen passing upwards. 

LUCIO. Flown ! O my bird, my star ! Up 
mounts thy light, 

a 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

And Lucio's eyes go blind. 

[He crosses to the fountain, and there within a 

buttress of the church wall stands watching. 

From a distance comes the sound, as from an 

opened door, of laughter and revelry, A sudden 

gleam of light is thrown along the street. 

Enter paolo and other Revellers, followed by 

RUDOLFo, cloaked in black and bearing a 

sword. The Revellers are a little drunk. One 

runs ahead, hides, and, as the others go by, 

makes a sham pass with his sheathed sword, 

crying ' Moo ! ' His ' victim ' squeaks. Loud 

laughter follows. 

PAOLO. To the right ! To the right ! 

Look out for the cow's horn ! Come, my Rudolfo ! 

We 're for Perugia. 

[paolo and the others go off, laughing. 
RUDOLFO. Ye fools, go your ways ! 
I 'm for Antonia. 

\He takes his stand within the recessed doorway. 

Enter Francesco, strumming upon a small mandoL 

FRANCESCO. Oh, sleep not so ! 
Let dreams now go ! 
For the way we know lies easy. 
So make delight 
Of the live-long night. 
While the moon shines bright on Assisi. 

[He approaches the window of antonia. 
O whitest flower. 
From thy high bower 

Look down this hour, 

[rudolfo strikes his sword across the strings, 
4 



THE REVELLERS 

RUDOLFO. Hold ! 

FRANCESCO. Litter of Cerberus ! Whose black 

dog are you ? 
RUDOLFo. Take your strings hence, strummer ! 

Linger not here ! 
FRANCESCO [mildly surprised]. Signor Rudolfo ? 
RUDOLFO [bitingly]. Aye, Signor Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO [trying to pass]. Nay, by your leave ! 
[rudolfo withstands him threateningly. 
Why then, without your leave, to yourself I leave 
you! 

[He crosses to the fountain and there spies 

LUCIO. 

Lucio ? 

LUCIO. How now, Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. There is a black dog yonder ; and 

he bites. 
LUCIO. Better not cross him ; he is dangerous. 
FRANCESCO. Yct will I tame him ! See, here is 
the wine 
That wins my wager : Uberto and padrone. 
Both have I beaten ! 

[From his girdle he unslings a wine- shin. 
LUCIO. Thou art a thief, Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO. Aye, till to-morrow : then will I 
make payment. 
Set it to cool, here in the fountain, Lucio. 
LUCIO [reaching down]. The well is dry. 
FRANCESCO. Excellent ! Pour it in ! 
We '11 make a miracle of it for San Rufino, — 
Blood from his bones. Tasting, how they will 
stare ! 
LUCIO. What is this for ? 
5 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Go OH ! Do as I tell thee ! 

[lucio pours the wine into the fountain, Fran- 
cesco resumes his strumming. 
O whitest flower. 
From yon high bower 

Look down this hour, 

RUDOLFO [coming across]. Cease ! or I hack thy 

strings. 
FRANCESCO. Bounteous, but most chaste Moon, 
here is a lover 
Bids us not look on Heaven ! — ^would blot out stars, 
Block windows, call down watchmen from the walls. 
Put out the eyes of the astronomers. 
And hold thee his alone ! O gentle mistress, 
Art thou indeed for him, and for none other ? 
Then wherefor didst thou bend kind looks on me ? 
RUDOLFO. Enough ! See to it : get hence ! 
FRANCESCO. Nay, thou canst have her. 

Only be careful : see thou treat her well ! 
For, if thy worth diminish, when she wanes 
She '11 give thee horns. [rudolfo threatens him. 
Nay, nay, not cow's horns, Signor ! 

But horns of ivory, horns of 

RUDOLFO. This man 's mad ! 
FRANCESCO. Moon-mad, and full of wine, and 
wanting more ! 

Enter uberto, rinaldo, paolo, and other 
Revellers. 

REVELLERS. Hi ! Hi ! Where is Francesco ? 
FRANCESCO. Hcllo ! Hcllo ! Have ye still legs 
to run ? — 
And wings ? Come, birds ! 
6 



THE RE^TELLERS 

UBERTO. Well, well ! what is it, Francesco ? 
RiNALDO. Cloth-merchant, are we drunk ? 
PAOLO. The old padrone has turned us out : 
Says we have had more wine than we have paid 
for! 
FRANCESCO. Charges you, does he ? 
RiNALDO. Cloth-yard, are we drunk ? 
FRANCESCO. I havc seen worse, Rinaldo. Yonder 

lies one. 
UBERTO. What ? The Podesta ? 
FRANCESCO. Aye ! an hour ago, 
I found him making a bed of his own doorstep. 
Truly — compared with him — ^ye be all sober. 
LUCID. He lies there still. 

RINALDO. Old paunch-pot turned us out, — said 
we were drunk. 
To the cow's horn with him ! 

UBERTO [after going to look]. Aye, lies there still ! 
Lord ! where are such examples going to lead 
us? 
PAOLO. To drink. We are all drunk: Assisi's 
drunk. 
Oh, if Perugia knew, now were her time ! 

FRANCESCO. Count on it, Paolo ! I can give you 
proof. 
The hour has struck ; Assisi is in danger. 
PAOLO. Comes when ? 
FRANCESCO. This very night. 
UBERTO. Whence get you that, dreamer ? 
FRANCESCO [pointing to the fountain]. Look, 
Brothers ! 
There is the omen, 
PAOLO. What is it ? 

7 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Blood ! 

[They gather round, much impressed, and peer 
down into the fountain. 
UBERTO. How comes it ? 
FRANCESCO. By miraclc ! 

To-night is the fulfilment of a great marvel. 
When I was a child, my nurse oft told me of it ; 
But never have I believed it true — till now. 
PAOLO. Believed what true ? 
FRANCESCO. Yc know whose is this church ? 

Within these walls, sacred to San Rufino, 
Here, under the high altar, lie his bones. 
The legend says they live : and that when war 
Threatens our city's peace, those bones sweat 

blood. 
Which, changed to wine, flows down into this 

fountain. 
Forewarning us of danger. 

PAOLO. This is strange telling ! 
FRANCESCO. Take not my word for it : San 
Rufino 's vintage 
Offers itself for proof. 

[He dips the chained cup, and holds it out to them, 
Lucio, lending himself to the deception, advances 
to make reverent inspection, followed by others. 
LUCIO. It looks like wine. 

[He hands the cup to uberto, who samples it 
suspiciously. 
UBERTO. Aye, and it tastes like wine. 
FRANCESCO. 'Tis winc, Uberto ! Drink ! I 've 
won my wager ! 

[So saying, he slaps him over the back with the 
wine-skin. 

8 



THE REVELLERS 

[This sudden revelation is greeted with a burst 
of laughter. Sobriety vanishes, bibulous merri- 
ment again holds sway. 
Lucio. Ha! He hath beaten thee! The tailor's goose 
Was the better bird, for all thy crowing, Uberto ! 
UBERTO. Well, I repent not of it ! When the 
padrone 
Kept his last wine-skin from us, I was angry : 
Now I forgive him. 

FRANCESCO [holding out the cup]. So, more wine, 
Padrone ! 
Pour night into a cup : I '11 drink it dry ! 
Till dawn shall fill it again. 

[The cup begins to go round, rinaldo, slow 
of wits, still sticks to his grievance. 
RINALDO. He turned us out ! 
Shall a man live, — shall a padrone live, — 
Shall he have licence to deny his guests 
The reason — the only reason for his existence ? 
PAOLO. Come, come, Rinaldo ! Here 's consola- 
tion for thee. [Offers him the cup, 
RINALDO. Why, this is the very life that he denied 

me ! [Drinking] This, this is what I live for ! 
FRANCESCO. Happy man ! 
To drink, and have thy heaven ! 

RINALDO [still drinking]. Ah ! were I a stone, 
I would go down into this fountain, and so live. 
Never to come up again. Why should I ? 

FRANCESCO. No reasou why ; life being without 

reason. 
LUCIO. Life without reason ? Come ! how make 

you that ? 
FRANCESCO. What does man live for ? 
9 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

UBERTO. That he may go on hving. 

FRANCESCO. And when he dies — ^what then ? 

Lucio. He Hves on still. 

PAOLO. He can't help living. 

FRANCESCO. Having no choice puts reason out 

of court. 
Lucio. And to this riddle, Francesco, what is 

thy answer ? 
FRANCESCO. Man lives to be in keeping with his 
nature ; 
To be a man, and not to be alive. 
Were most unnatural. 

Why do I stand on my feet ? Because my feet 
Are made to stand on. Why do I see with mine eyes ? 
Because they are windows to look through. Why 

do I talk ? 
Because I have a tongue. Why do I love ? 
RiNALDO [mockingly]. Love ! 
FRANCESCO. Bccause, without love, man is no- 
thing . And nobody can give me a better reason . 
UBERTO. Call you that reason ? I can reason too. 
Why do I stumble ? Because I have feet to 

stumble with. 
Why do I weep ? Because I have eyes to weep from. 
Why does the moon grow full ? Because she plays 

the wanton. 
Why do I make cuckolds of all married men ? 
Because woman is woman. 

There 's reason for you ! More wine. Padrone ! 
FRANCESCO [holding back the cup]. Why does he 

want more wine that is not thirsty ? 
UBERTO. Because, if a thing is good, he wants it 
without reason. 

10 



THE REVELLERS 

FRANCESCO. That 's the truth of it, Uberto. 
And that is why 
Folly is better than wisdom. 
Wisdom requires a reason : Folly none. 

LUCID. And what is Folly ? 

FRANCESCO. That which is happy, and without 
reason lives. 

PAOLO. But Folly himself does some things for a 
reason. 

FRANCESCO. For a false reason. 

PAOLO. When he is tired, Folly goes to bed. 

RINALDO. Not he ! 

UBERTO. Yes ; with a bedfellow. 

RINALDO. The more tired he, when he gets up again! 

FRANCESCO. And so must sleep in the daytime, 
when by reason he should be waking. There- 
fore sleeps not till reason is against it. So 
without reason sleeps : — which proves my 
point. 

PAOLO. What : that a fool can reason ? 

FRANCESCO. Pretending to be wise. 

UBERTO. More drink, Padrone ! 

PAOLO. Fill us with folly, Francesco ! The night 
is young. 

FRANCESCO. Is it your pleasure ? 

SEVERAL. Agreed ! you lead : we follow. 

[FRANCESCO Strikes his strings, and begins 
singing. The others join in. 

Come, Folly, sweet Folly, to me be kind ! 

Make bright the eyes of the hour that flies I 
For to wait till the morrow. 
That brings a man sorrow. 

Is a trade that has never made any man wise ! 
11 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Come, drink, then, drink, and merry let us be ! 
For who can tell but to-morrow he may die ? 
Though never have I met 
With any one yet 
Can tell a man, tell a man, tell a man why ! 
[rudolfo comes suddenly across from his 
hiding-place. 
RUDOLFO. Root out, you noisy rogues ! What 
means this clamour. 
Waking the weary echoes of the night ? 
FRANCESCO. The song is over, Signor. The Moon 
is yours again : 
Yonder she waits for you. 

[rudolfo makes a gesture. 
PAOLO [interposing']. Take it not ill, Rudolfo ! 
The fool means well, and there 's no mending him. 
FRANCESCO. So now to return to our philosophy : 
We are agreed, are we not, that Folly stands 
Not upon reason ? But when he goes to war. 
Must he not have some reason, though 'twere a 
false one ? 
UBERTO. By the cow's horn, I think so ! 
FRANCESCO. Aye, there you have it. Look you I 
On market day. 
Into Assisi enters from Perugia 
One of her citizens — a man of wealth. 
Ere the day ends, he goes with a hole in him. 
And through it back to the dust from which he 

came. 
What follows next ? We, in Assisi, say 
'Twas a cow's horn that did it. They, in Perugia, 

Swear that Assisi slew him, by the hand of 

[He pauses. 
12 



THE REVELLERS 

Lucio [meaningly]. No need to name him. 

[rudolfo turns sharp and looks at him : lucio 
stiffens ; they stand eyeing each other. 

FRANCESCO. And that no cow did it. 
On that they threaten war. 

And when we have fought enough, and raged enough. 
And piled up waste enough of blood and treasure. 
Some day we shall make peace. And we, in Assisi, 
Shall still say 'twas a cow that did it ; and they 
Will swear that it was murder, — not horn but steel. 
Now had it chanced contrary — ^that in Perugia 
One of our citizens had been so slain. 
Then would Perugia have pledged her faith 
To a cow's horn, and we — to a murdered man. 
And this is War, — for which Folly finds reason ! 

PAOLO [singing]. O Folly, sweet Folly ! 

RUDOLFO. Well, if the horn was long and sharp 
enough 
To do its work, would any wish a better ? 

LUCIO. One, less of a coward, — ^that having dealt 
the blow 
Would take the blame for it, not leaving others 
To pay his debt ! 

RUDOLFO. How now, Lucio ? 

FRANCESCO. Come, come ! Will you not drink ? 

LUCIO. Let me go, Paolo ! 
He talks of the cow's horn. So do we all, — 
Against Perugia to maintain our quarrel. 
But we, here in Assisi, know 'tis false ! 
And that, in the market-place, was no cow's horn. 
Or long, or sharp, or straight, or cruel enough. 
To deal that blow ! 

FRANCESCO. Pcace, Lucio ! hold thy tongue ! 
13 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Lucio. And I tell you, Rudolf o, that you lie ! 
With your cow's horn, you, from a secret corner. 
Did stab him in the back. There ! Now you have 
it! 
RUDOLFO. Enough, I take you ! 
LUCIO. Paolo, thy sword ! 

[He takes paolo's sword. 
Have out thy horn ! Now toss me if thou canst ! 
[nuDOLro draws. They fight. The window 
above is flung open. 
ANTONiA. Ah, God ! Francesco, part them ! 
[FRANCESCO intervenes with his mandol, and 
endeavours to strike down their weapons. 
FRANCESCO. Softly, softly ! 
Here is a tune wherein I must take part. 
Come, Brothers, come ! What piece is this you play ? 
On my head be it ! 

[Coming between, he takes a thrust from lucio's 
sword, and falls into rudolfo's arms. 
Oh, I have taken death, 
Lucio, from thee ! Rudolfo, give me stay ! 
Bring me some of the blood of San Rufino : 
So — ere I die ! 

[They bear him to the fountain, and fill the cup 
for him. He drinks, and makes as much of his 
dying as is possible, lucio stands distraught 
with grief: even rudolfo is compunctious. 
FRANCESCO. Ah ! swear to me, Rudolfo ! 
And you, Lucio, you too ; — ^never again ! 
Your hand. Your hand. [He takes first lucio's, 
then rudolfo's, holding them both.] Ye 
swear ? 
lucio. I swear, Francesco. 
14 



THE RE^^LLERS 

RUDOLFO. I am content. This quarrel was not 

my seeking. 
FRANCESCO. Why, then, all 's well again. Put 
up your steel ! 
And pardon me, dear friends, that I deceived you. 
There came a voice from Heaven, — ^and I obeyed. 
[He rises, showing plainly that he does not 
intend dying. But his hurt is a real one : 
blood drips from it. He staggers. 
RiNALDO. Francesco, thou 'rt more drunk than 

any of us. 
LUCID. Oh ! I have hurt thee ! 

[He takes Francesco's arm, and begins bandag- 
ing it. 
FRANCESCO. No, uo, Lucio ; 'tis nothing. 
Rudolfo spares thee : vex him not again. 

RUDOLFO. Art thou so bled, Francesco ? It was 
not I 
That did it. 

FRANCESCO. I would it had been, if this taste of 
blood 
Could satisfy thee, Rudolfo. 

RUDOLFO . Get him to bed ! I leave you. So, 

farewell ! 
FRANCESCO. Aye, fare thee well, Rudolfo, fare 
thee well ! 

[Exit RUDOLFO. FRANCESCO sits down, and 
draws a deep breath. All wait on him. 
'Tis a fair night. Let not brief discord 

break 
The harmony of our mirth. Come, let 's play on. 
And to unfinished music give conclusion, 
PAOLO. What now, Francesco ? 
15 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Yondei stands Folly, and beckons. 
PAOLO. Whither away ? 

FRANCESCO. Assisi is asleep. Let us wake her ! 
UBERTO. How ? Wherewith ? 
FRANCESCO. A noise of drums, — ^the beating of 
her own heart ! 
Thinks she is at peace, — wakes to a sound of war ; 
Dreaming of safety, finds her house on fire ; 
Fenced within walls, hears that those walls are down ! 
So starkly wakened — should any doubt our word — 
There 's San Rufino's blood to show for it. 

PAOLO. 'Tis a large matter, Francesco ! How 
can so few 
Rouse a whole city ? 

FRANCESCO. Ring the bells, Paolo, shout, beat 
at the gates. 
Bring torches, run, raise knockings in all the streets. 
Wake the Podesta, call the city guard. 
Shout ' Ho ! Perugia ! ' Make loud enough 
The terror of your tongues, — so swiftly then 
Shall the infection spread, will any hereafter 
Dare say what dog first barked ? We shall be 

blameless 
Like all the rest. Oh, come, stay not to parley ! 
To it, boys, to it ! When San Rufino sounds. 
Your call has come. Then bid Assisi wake ! 

[The Revellers disperse swiftly, this way and that. 
Some FRANCESCO holds back. 
Lucio. The Podesta is there, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO. Go, take two others, 
Blind him, and bring him hither ! Now, my Uberto, 
Yonder Rufino's bell is waiting for thee. 

[He helps uberto to enter the church by the 
16 



THE REVELLERS 

stair window. And now for a moment he is 

all alone. 
O sweet Antonia, do not be afraid ! 
Our revel harms thee not ; nor shall thy 

heart 
Have further ground for grief. Lucio is safe. 

Enter rinaldo and others, leading the podesta, 
hound and bonneted. 

[Overhead the hell of San Rufino starts clang- 
ing. Uproar begins in the city. 
RINALDO. Thou naughty man, thou naughty 

man, come hither ! 
PODESTA. Let me go, villains ! 
BiNALDO. He calls us villains ! 
PODESTA. Help ! Help ! 
FRANCESCO. Fellow, who art thou ? 
PODESTA. I am the Podesta. 
FRANCESCO. That cannot be ; for drunk, and 
on his doorstep, 
We find thee sleeping. 

PODESTA. I say I am the Podesta ! 
FRANCESCO. Then, if thou art. 

Why wast thou sleeping ? 

PODESTA. Wherefor should I not sleep ? May 
one not sleep o' night ? 

[More hells begin ringing. 
FRANCESCO. Hark, to his folly ! Old man, how 
dar'st thou sleep 
With death at every door, and city gates 
Unguarded, for the enemy to enter ? 
PODESTA. Who is the enemy ? 
FRANCESCO. Pcrugia. 
B 17 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PODESTA. You lie ! She is not. Yesterday, 
came word 
Proposing peace ! 

FRANCESCO. A blind ! — ^blinkers for asses ! 
And thou hast put them on ; and in her 

harness, 
Tied to her yoke, thou hast betrayed the city. 
PODESTA. Nay, God forbid ! 

[The uproar increases. 
FRANCESCO. Thy prayer is said too late ! 
PODESTA. I '11 not believe it. Where is the city 
guard ? 
Guard ! Guard ! Ho, help ! Thieves, robbers, 
murderers ! 
FRANCESCO. Nccdlcss thou criest. Loose, and 
let him go ! 

[They unbind him, and at a signal from 
FRANCESCO run off, UBERTo retums. 
If thou believe me not, the more drunk thou. 
Are not the signs apparent to thy brain ? 
Hark to the beating bells, the battered gates, 
The shoutings in the streets ! 
Or, if such signs be not sufficient for thee. 
Here witnesses the blood of San Rufino. 

PODESTA. Saints ! What a night is this of signs 
and wonders ! 
How am I torn, divided ! 

Enter citizens, running, half-clad and 
carrying arms. 

Help, ho ! Guard ! 
Come ye so late when I call you ? Are ye so slow. 
When doom is on us ? Ho ! Bring me my sword, 
18 



THE REVELLERS 

My helm, my armour ! Go, get me a horse ! 
Cry ' Help, Assisi ! ' Ho ! Assisi ! Ho ! 

[Exit, accompanied by the citizens., 
UBERTO [laughing]. There goes old Thunderbolt ! 
Thou hast so stuffed his stomach for the fight. 
Now there 's no holding him. 

FRANCESCO. Hark, how he roars them on ! 
Assisi wakes. 
And sleep is slain for ever. 

UBERTO. I must see more of this. Come on, 
Francesco ! [Exit uberto. 

[FRANCESCO sits down by the fountain, in 
sudden dejection. 
FRANCESCO. Swcet night, how we have fouled 
thee ! Into thy fold 
Have come like wolves, and all the flocks of peace 
Into a howling wilderness have scattered ! 

[The tumult in the city increases. 
O Father Folly, whither hast thou brought me ? 
Here, after faithful service, am I left ; 
And when my other father hears tell of it. 
To-morrow, there '11 be trouble ! See, up yonder. 
How from her throne the chaste and bloodless Moon 
Watches our world, so drunk, so full of wine. 
And boisterous revelry, and jealous fears. 
Dancing to death 1 [A clock tolls.] There goes 

another hour ! 
Nay, thou didst well, Antonia, not to mate 
With such a moon -calf as makes meat on me ! 

Enter lucid, running. 

Lucio. O my Francesco ! 
Here is great news and marvellous ! Didst thou know ? 
19 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Come messengers ! Perugia declares war ! 

Her army is set forth, and will be here 

Ere daybreak ! O Francesco ! Didst thou know ? 

FRANCESCO [wMmsically amused]. No, Lucio, I 
did not ! But the Moon knew : 
For she sees further than we do. 

VOICES [without], Francesco ! Francesco ! 

FRANCESCO. Heavcn hath been kind to me, I 
have done well ; 
And I shall not be hanged for it. 
Look, Lucio, look ! What a light shines on me ! 
I am moonstruck : there she goes to make my 

fortune ! 
r shall be Prince ; the world shall hear of me ! 
And for Assisi I will make a name, — 
For fair Assisi ! 

Enter uberto and the other Revellers. 

REVELLERS. Franccsco, thou hast saved the city ! 
[FRANCESCO stands for a moment rapt in the 
delight of his success. Then takes his instru- 
ment and sings. 
FRANCESCO. O Folly, sweet Folly, to me be kind ! 
Make bright the eyes of the hour that flies ! 
For to wait till the morrow. 
That brings a man sorrow. 
Is a trade that has never made any man wise ! 

[With cheers, the Revellers hoist him to their 
shoulders and bear him off. His song dies 
away in the distance. 



20 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 




Scene: a prison in Perugia. 
The door with barred grille 
is set in a recess to the 
right facing the spectator. 
To the left, high up in the 
wall above a stone seat, is a 
grated window. At one end 
of a table in the foreground 
RiNALDo and Uberto are 
throwing dice; at the other 
Giovanni and Paolo play 
chess. RuDOLFO sits apart 
from the rest paring his nails with vindictive relish as though he 
were faying an enemy. Other prisoners loiter expectantly at the 
door; some talk through the grille with their gaolers. Lucio sits 
under the window sunk in dejection : over his head hangs a wicker 
cage containing a pair of doves. Francesco reclines beside him 
and sings to the accompaniment of a guitar. The song is gay and 
debonair ; grace-notes abound in it. 

FRANCESCO. Why should we wish for wings to fly, 
O Head, O Heart, now you and I 

Have found a cell which fits us well ? 
Life is our own : let well alone ! 

Birds of a feather, down we fell 
Together, to find fortune flown. 

[rinaldo turns with a gesture of 
impatience. 
UBERTO. Come, play, Rinaldo ! 
21 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Why should I wish for feet to run ? 
So many a mile, so ill begun, 

I toiled to make myself a jest 1 
A weary way, a wasted day, 
I ran to see a sinking sun — — 
UBERTO. Again I take thee ! 

[rinaldo hands over Ms stake. 
FRANCESCO. Which set too soon. But now the 
moon 
Is kind to me ; and that is best ! 
RINALDO. Thou chattering monkey, cease ! Tie 

up thy tongue ! 
FRANCESCO. I was not singing to thee, Rinaldo — 

Signor Rinaldo. 
RINALDO. Thou wast singing in my hearing, 
Francesco — Signor Francesco ! 
I would I were stone deaf, or thou stone dumb I 
FRANCESCO. The song is ended, Signor. 
RINALDO. End thyself with it ! 
I am sick of the very sound of thee. 

UBERTO. Come, come, Rinaldo ! Let the mer- 
chant take 
Such measure as he is made for. Now, take mine ! 
There 's sixes for thee ! 

RINALDO. I cannot stand that fellow ! The more 
lame time 
Creeps from us like a snail, the more he crows ! 
UBERTO. Rudolf o, stand in with us presently : 
We '11 make a place for thee. 

[rudolfo half turns his head hut says nothing. 
RINALDO. How savage sick he is ! 
UBERTO. Like a chained hawk : 

Song-birds do better. 

22 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

RiNALDO. What ? That gold -finch ? Faugh ! 
I 'd Hke to throttle him. 

UBERTO. Well, hate has a use. 

When it gives life a purpose. Come, play on ! 

[rudolfo seems to think so also. His eyes rest 
on Lucio ; he watches him intently, 
GIOVANNI. Check ! 

PAOLO [taking the piece]. Goes thy queen. 
FRANCESCO. Lucio, what is thy grief ? 
Lucio. The days, and all the minutes of the 
hours ! 
Will this war never end, — ^peace never come ? 
FRANCESCO. Oncc thou didst sigh that all days 
were too short ; 
And now thou sighest because they are too long ! 
Make more of them ! — until, so short they seem. 
Thou 'It have new cause for sighing, — ^namely the 
old cause. 
LUCIO. Thou 'rt but a fool, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO. So was I born. For to be born is 
foolish. 
My mother cried because of it. 

LUCIO. Why is it foolish to be born ? 
FRANCESCO. Before a man was born he wanted 
nothing ; 
But when he is born he wants everything. 

LUCIO. And lives to get it ; and so proves his 

fitness. 
FRANCESCO. Nay, but he cannot ! Look you ; 
I have two eyes. 
And cannot see from the back of my own head : 
But dearly would I like to ! I have two legs ; 
And love them so that lief would I have a hundred. 
23 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

But a world's wishing will not make them grow. 
Nor give me a body that could find room for them. 
Want is my master. I am full of wants ; 
And therefore am a fool ; and therefore happy. 

Lucio. Why happy, having wants ? 

FRANCESCO. Heaven only knows I 

Yet would a hundred legs not make me happy ; 
For then I should not want them. 

LUCID. Ah ! thou canst talk ! 

FRANCESCO. What else is left me ? I look out 
through bars : 
See a bird fly, — ^and straightway I want wings. 
But had I wings, a prisoner, — I should be 
More miserable than ever. 

LUCIO. Your want were then 

To be out, also ? 

FRANCESCO. Aye ! And, being out. 
What should I want with wings ? 

Lucio. Oh, have thy way I 

And have thy wants ! Where is the messenger 
That brings my ransom ? 

FRANCESCO. Riding the same four feet 

That bring me mine. 

RiNALDO. What ? Shall one sorry beast 

Bear up the load of all thy boasted fortune. 
Thou purse-proud popinjay ? 

UBERTO [laughing]. Oh, peace, Rinaldo ! 

RINALDO. Thou pink-eyed peacock ! Sick, I 
heard him boast : 
' My father 's rich : I 'm Bernardone's son, 
A man of substance ; — ^price me as you please ! 
I 'm precious, and can be paid for ! ' Faugh ! the 
fool 

24 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

Has neither blood, backbone, spirit, nor courage ; — 
Only a merchant's purse, and a braggart tongue. 
And feathers to his cap — for ladies' eyes 
That will not look at him. 

GIOVANNI. Leave him, Rinaldo ! 
RINALDO. Leave him ? Let him leave us ! What 
folly brought him ? 
Was he a fighter ? 

FRANCESCO. No, I liked not fighting. 

I brought myself, to be with Lucio. 

RINALDO. With Lucio ? I thought ye had more 
cause 
For jealousy. 

RUDOLFo [sarcastically]. Cause ? Ha ! 
LUCIO. Have done, Rinaldo ! 
That is all mended : we are friends again. 

RINALDO. I would yc were not ! Thou 'rt the 
better man, 
Lucio, — the better born, the better bred ; 
And it consorts but poorly with thy credit 
To friend with such as he. 

LUCIO. Pardon, Rinaldo : 

I choose friends as I find them — for myself. 

RINALDO. Oh, fairly said ! And so do I choose 
— ^pah ! — 
Things that I spit on ! 

[FRANCESCO stavts to Ms feet. 
LUCIO [interposing]. Uberto, stand between 
This madman and his rage. No, no, Francesco ! 

[uBERTo and lucio hold them apart. 

FRANCESCO [turning away]. Well . . . Well . . . 

God keep your wits, sir ! . . . Life 's to mend. 

[He picks up a garment from the bench, squats 

25 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

cross-legged on the floor, opens his pouch, gets 
out his needle and thread, and prepares to 
mend. 
RiNALDO. Look on him, look ! Thou tattered 

rag, thou patch ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou worthy fellow. 
RINALDO. Thou lie ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou rash conclusion. 

[FRANCESCO holds up the torn garment, and 
examines it. 
PAOLO. Hark, how he mocks him ! 
Lucio. Answer not, Francesco ! 
RINALDO. Thou bauble ! Thou piece of trim- 
ming ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou voicc of rage. 
RINALDO. Thou scab ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou scold. 

[He starts to cut a patch. 
RINALDO. Thou upstart worm ! Thou mush- 
room ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou mother's son. 
RINALDO. Thou slime ! Thou filth ! Thou 

syrup ! Thou sticky thing ! 
FRANCESCO. Thou pcrsou. 

GIOVANNI. Francesco, for God's sake, use harder 
words ! 
Thou 'It break his heart. 

RINALDO. Ha ! Shall my heart be broken 
By such a milkmaid ! Pah ! Yet will I sting 
him ! 
UBERTO. God save us ! Give us peace ! 

[FRANCESCO Mtcs off a length of thread. 
RINALDO. Thou bastard boy ! 
26 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

FRANCESCO. Thou pride of ancestors. 

RiNALDO. Thou crow ! 

FRANCESCO. Thou crested eagle. 

RINALDO. Thou tailor ! 

FRANCESCO [threading his needle]. To the needle's 

eye, thou camel ! 
RINALDO [squealing with rage]. Ah ! 

[The onlookers take rinaldo's wrath as men 

well accustomed to enjoying the humours of it. 

But when he makes an infuriated dash at 

FRANCESCO, two of the others again stand 

between. 
UBERTO. Nay, nay ! Thou shalt not ! 
GIOVANNI. Be not so curst, Rinaldo ! 
Lucio [to FRANCESCO]. Nor thou so calm ! 

The Gaoler enters, followed by two Turnkeys. 

GAOLER. Run in, fellows, and part them ! 
Remember, sirs, that ye be prisoners. 
Only free men are free to fight each other. 

RINALDO. Enough ! What 's he, that thou tak'st 

keep for him ? 
GAOLER. He stands to ransom like all the rest 

of you. 
RINALDO [fired anew to his grievance]. To ransom ? 
Ha! 
This painted stickleback, whose merchant father 

Sells cloth by the false yard, 

[FRANCESCO is obout to retorU 
LUCIO. Oh, peace, Francesco ! 
RINALDO. This nice, priceless ninny. 

Itching to ape his betters, tricks for battle. 
He cannot fight, never hath swung a sword ; — 
27 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Oh ! but can dress ! To armour add ten suits, 
Tassels, and silks, striped hose, a cap with 

plumes, 
Wears silver spurs ; has servants at his back, — 
And he a tailor ! 

GIOVANNI. Come, Rinaldo, come ! 

A merchant, not a tailor. 

RINALDO. Look at him now ! 

[FRANCESCO continucs his mending. 
Then — taken prisoner — and held to ransom ; 
He makes a boast of it, puts up his price, — 
Parades his riches. So five hundred ducats 
Are set upon his head, — on mine two hundred. 
Is it to be believed, to be endured. 
That my worth is accounted less than his — 
Less than his dirty half ? See how he sits ! 

GAOLER. All which concerns me not. While under 
bonds 
Ye must be peaceful. I will have no cow's horns 
Among you here. Perugia makes no profit 
From dead men's bones. 

[He goes toward the door. 
Fair sirs, if any of you 
Wish to be buying, vendors from the market 
Are here to serve you. 

UBERTO. What have they to sell ? 

[The prisoners begin crowding toward the grille, 
through which can be heard the cries of the 
salesmen. 
GAOLER. Flesh, fish, and fruit ; bread, wine. 
Come, take your turns I 
Your turns, your turns, gentlemen ! [To the 
Turnkeys] Stand in between, 
28 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

Handle what passes ! [To the prisoners] See that 

ye keep the peace ; 
Else ye get nothing ! 

[He goes out. The prisoners at the grille begin 
bargaining with money, clothes, or chain- 
links, in exchange for provisions, 
UBERTO. Thou hawk, how thou didst peck him 

with thy tongue ! 
RiNALDO. There is no blood in him ! Why does 
he live ? 
These peaceful practisers defeat my senses, 
And make me look a fool ! 

UBERTO. Come, let 's to market ! 
RINALDO. Thou 'st emptied me, Uberto. 
UBERTO. That shall not hinder. 
I must not see thee starve for that ill-fortune 
Which brings me increase. What wilt thou have, 
Rinaldo ? 
RINALDO. Wine ! Wine ! And then, more 
wine ! 
This rating of a fool makes a man thirsty ! 

[They move toward the grille, lucio, Fran- 
cesco having given him money, rises to follow 
them. 
FRANCESCO. Thou hast forgotten, Lucio, to feed 

thy cagelings. 
LUCIO. When I forget, thou dost remember for 
me. 
Feed them, Francesco ! 

[He gives Francesco a bag of grain. 
FRANCESCO. Were they my prisoners I would let 

them go. 
LUCIO. Why ? They seem happy enough. 
29 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. ' Enough ' — ' Enough ' ? Oh, Lucio, 

they have wings ! 
LUCIO. They have not brains, Francesco : but, 
what is better. 
Each hath its mate. 

FRANCESCO. Aye ; that is true ! . . . 
Lucio, we two, in prison, are better friends 
Than fortune would allow us when in freedom. 
Lucio. No reason stands against it now, Fran- 
cesco. 
The fear each had of each hath lost all meaning, — 
She being so far away. 

FRANCESCO. I ncvcr feared, 

I only envied thee. . . . But now, I know ! 
LUCIO [gently]. How much I love her ? 
FRANCESCO. How much she loves thee. 

LUCIO [devoutly]. I do believe 'tis true I Rudolfo 
lied! 
She did not love him — ever. 

FRANCESCO. Said he so ? . . . 

No : nor Francesco ; only Lucio. 

[He mounts the bench, and begins giving 
the birds their food, lucio goes to 
the grille, giovanni, having made his 
purchases, approaches, and stands watch- 
ing. 
GIOVANNI. Francesco, dost thou hope to get thy 

ransom ? 
FRANCESCO. Aye : if my father thinks that I am 

worth it. 
GIOVANNI. 'Tis a great sum. Merchants fare 
better now 
Than lords of title : while both parties fight 
30 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

They make their profits . Hast thou heard, Francesco, 
Of what has happened lately, in Assisi ? 
FRANCESCO. I heard a whisper of it. 
GIOVANNI. Rinaldo now 

Will scarcely raise his ransom. At his back 
Stands an impoverished house ; and there be others. 
FRANCESCO. Others ? — What, here ? 
GIOVANNI. Rudolfo's loss is more 

Than he yet knows ; no one dares tell him of it. 
We 're of the people's party ; in whose winning 
These find their dow^nfall. 

FRANCESCO [after a pause]. Aye ! 
GIOVANNI. What does ' aye ' stand for ? 
FRANCESCO. No ouc dares tell him ? Oh, had 
Rudolfo guessed 
That a cow's horn could into so much ruin 
Have pushed a city ! 

[There is commotion at the gate, lucio comes 
running. 
LUCIO. Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! Francesco, 
Here comes the messenger, bringing my ransom ! 
To-night I shall be there ! 

[The door opens ; pompilio, full of his import- 
ance, enters. 
SEVERAL. Ah ! 'tis Pompilio ! Worthy Pompilio ! 
Welcome ! What news ? What news ? 

POMPILIO. Greeting, fair Signors. I come from 
Assisi ; 

And I have here [They all crowd in on him.] 

I pray you, give me space 
Wherein to find myself. By your leave, gentlemen ! 
So ... I have here — I being Commissary, Emis- 
sary, or Embassy 

31 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

RiNALDO. Messer Pompilio, hast thou brought 

my ransom ? 
UBERTo. And mine ! 
OTHERS. And mine ! 
Lucio. Oh, where is mine, Pompilio ? 
POMPILIO. I have with me a list. Signers. 
Patience, I pray you ! 
Here is the list ; with names set in due order. 
I cannot give the names except I read them . . . 
Signor Giovanni. 
GIOVANNI. Aye. 

POMPILIO. Thy ransom of a hundred ducats, the 
citizens have accorded thee by vote : having 
heard well of thy doings ere thou wast taken. 
FRANCESCO. See what comes of being brave, 
Giovanni ! I was not brave. No vote would 
see me ransomed. 
POMPILIO. Signor Rudolfo, I have brought thy 

ransom. 
RUDOLFO. Surely ; I sent for it. Wherefor so 

late? 
POMPILIO. 'Twas hard to come by, Signor. 

[pompilio hands Mm his ransom. 
RUDOLFO. Hard ? Why hard ? 
pompilio. I have ill news for thee. Signor Rudolfo, 
Thy house is down : no stone of it is left. 
The citizens, needing stone to build their walls. 
Thy house has served their purpose : thine, and 
some others. 

{For a moment rudolfo stands dazed. 
Signor Paolo. 

RUDOLFO. Hell and perdition take them ! 

{He goes and heats at the grille. 
32 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

A ransom ! Hi ! Here, fellows, let me go ! 
I will have down their walls before they know ! 

[The door opens. Exit rudolfo. 
Lucio. He goes, Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO. Carrying lame fortune with him. 
LUCIO. But I have less ! His riches find him 
favour ; 
And now he will be first. 

FRANCESCO. What ? — ^with Antonia ? Oh, have 
no fear. 
To-night I give thee wings ! 
POMPiLio. Signor Rinaldo, 
Thou 'rt in like case, but worse. Thy father's house, 
His goods, his lands, and his estate being forfeit. 
There is no ransom for thee . . . Signor Lucio. 
RINALDO. Out, Tradesman ! If thou art not gone 
to-night, 
I '11 throttle thee ! 

[Pushing FRANCESCO violently aside, he retires. 
UBERTO goes to comfort him. 
POMPILIO. Signor Lucio . . . 
Thy father saith, as thou didst go to war 
Contrary to his wish and prohibition. 
Thou must come out of it — ^by thine own means. 
LUCIO. Francesco ! I am slain ! 
FRANCESCO. Patience, awhile ! 
POMPILIO. Signor TJberto. 
UBERTO. Well ? How falls my fortune ? 
POMPILIO. Thy ransom was two hundred and fifty 
ducats. 
And here I have it for thee. 

UBERTO. Oh ! Give me a horse with wings I 
Now will I flv, 
C 33 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Back to Assisi, ere a new day dawn. 
Come, Giovanni ! Alas, my poor Rinaldo ! 
RiNALDO. Must I keep house with him ? 
POMPiLio. Signor Francesco. 

[poMPiLio is now handling a bigger money-hag 
than the others. 
UBERTo. I do not think so. Nay ; wait, let us hear ! 
POMPILIO. Thy ransom, Signor, was five hundred 
ducats. 
Thy father sends it thee ; and with all haste 
Bids thee return to him. 

RINALDO. Dog ! I could hang him ! 
GIOVANNI. He escapes thy keeping, — 
As thou didst pray, Rinaldo. 

FRANCESCO [taking the hag]. Is here the full 

amount ? 
POMPILIO. Why, surely, Signor. 
FRANCESCO [meditating]. Five hundred ducats. 
RINALDO. To see him handle it doth sicken me ! 
Out, scabby leper ! 

POMPILIO. Now for the others. Come, gentlemen ! 

[The remaining prisoners gather round pompilio 

and receive their ransoms. The door opens and 

shuts to their summons . One by one they go out . 

FRANCESCO. Lucio . . . What was thy ransom ? 

Two hundred, was it not ? 
Lucio. 'Twas so, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO [giving it]. Here it is for thee. 
LUCIO. For me ? What mean you ? 
FRANCESCO. Wiugs, Lucio, wings. See, yonder 
is Assisi. [lucio stands speechless. 

FRANCESCO. Signor Rinaldo. Was not, also, 
thy ransom two hundred ducats ? 
84 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

[rinaldo starts to speak, but stops : and stares 
in angry bewilderment. 
It is here, Signer ; 

For, having now only three hundred left, 
They are no use to me. 

RINALDO. What does he mean ? To mock me ? 

UBERTO [with quiet conviction]. No, Rinaldo. 

RINALDO. I understand him not. 

UBERTO. Nor I. But take it ! 
For that he means to let thee have thy freedom. 
That I can swear to thee. 

Lucio. Ah, dear Francesco ; 
Though never have I yet deserved thy love, 
How this shall teach me ! 

FRANCESCO. Go, put ou thy wings ! 
Put on thy wings, my bird, ere night grow deeper I 

RINALDO. Signor Francesco ... I am sorry ! 

FRANCESCO. So am I, Signor Rinaldo. 
'Tis not because I love thee, that I now 
Would pay thy ransom. What thou saidst was true. 
I am no fighter : even this poor tongue 
Hath no such edge as thine. And, since it seems 
Assisi still needs fighters, — in my stead 
To her I send thee. 

LUCIO. O my Francesco, thither when I am come. 
How I will sound thy praises ! 

FRANCESCO. Not too much, brother : 
Or many will not believe thee. 

RINALDO. Signor Francesco, 

Forgive what a harsh tongue hath said of thee ! 
I take all back again. Give me thy hand. 

[They join hands. 
Here 's a brave man — my better I 
35 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Indeed no, Signor ! I am still a coward. 
And very much afraid. 

Lucio. Of what, Francesco ? 
FRANCESCO. Of what my father will say, when he 
beholds 
This better bargain. He will not be pleased 
With me ; nor with you, either ! 

RiNALDO. Oh ! have no fear. 

We will get speech of him, and he shall hear 
Handsomely of thee, 

FRANCESCO. No . . . no . . . no, Rinaldo. 
Avoid my father as thou wouldst the plague ! 
For being choleric, crossed in his wishes. 
He will forget that he 's no gentleman. 

RINALDO. That 's a hard thrust, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO. I did uot mean it. I was thinking 
only of my father. 
Now haste ! for it gets dark ; and the fair road 
Waits for your company. 

[uBERTO and rinaldo begin to make prepara- 
tions for departure, pompilio and the other 
prisoners have gone. 
LUCIO. O happy night, and road that bears me 
home. 
Back to my love ! 

FRANCESCO. And with the dawn Assisi 
Shines in thine eyes, and all her windowed towers 
And peering walls that climb, roof above roof. 
Up the steep hill. Then the dim darkling streets 
Awake, doors open, and the market hums, — 
And there 's Assisi — dancing ! I can see 
Assisi dancing. Therefore am I free ! 
Free, Lucio, free I 

86 



FELLOW-PRISONERS 

RiNALDO. So now — as you will have it — 
Here we must leave you. I am sorry. I thank 



you 



FRANCESCO. And I am glad, Rinaldo, to have 
served you. 
Signor Uberto, — ^wilt thou do this for me ? 
Commend me, from a distance, to my father, — 
Say what thou wilt, and thank him for his bounty : 
Tell him my worth was never yet so great 
As he this day hath made it. To my mother . . . 
Go, see her, Lucio, when he shall be absent : 
Bid her not weep for me. And, for the rest. 
Give all my greeting ! 

[uberto and rinaldo go out. 
LUCIO. Ah ! farewell, Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO [embracing him]. Swift to thy mate, 
thou turtle ! Tarry no more ! 
See what a tender heaven of bedded stars 
Is watching over thee ! 

LUCIO. Kiss me, Francesco ! 
Give me a message to her, and I will bear it, 
Whate'er it be. Trust me, for now I go ! 

FRANCESCO. Tell her how much I love — thee, 
Lucio . . . 
Farewell, Brother ! 

[lucio goes. FRANCESCO is left alone. He 
stands listening awhile to the sounds of de- 
parture. Then he goes and opens a square 
of the barred window. 
FRANCESCO. And you, poor turtle pair, the last 
of all! 
Night comes apace : but in the night your wings 
Shall find a home. 

37 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

[He takes the two birds from their cage, and looses 
them, first one, then, more slowly, the other. 

So, farewell, little sister ! . . . 
And farewell, brother ! Stretch out thy wings, and 

go! 
Tell her how much I love thee, Lucio. 

[For a long time he stands looking out into the 

gathering darkness. Then he steps down, 

takes his guitar, and sings. As he sings, the 

empty prison-wall sends hack an echo : and it 

is thus we hear them. 

FRANCESCO [with ccho as accompaniment]. Go ! I 

have given you wings to fly ! {Wings to fly !) 

[He starts at the sound, and crosses the chamber. 

What is that voice of sighing and farewell ? {And 

farewell !) 
So ! We are alone together, we two, you and I. 

{You and I.) 
Brother Wall ! {Brother Wall !) Lovers, here we 

lie. {Here we lie.) 
Other loves are flown. {Flown.) Here alone we 

dwell. {We dwell.) 
Alone ! {Alone !) Not alone ! {Not alone I) 
You and I ! {You and I !) 
You . . . {You) . . . and I ! . . . {and I !) 

[Ceasing to sing, Francesco stands mazed in 
his new discovery; then, very softly, he speaks: 
Brother Wall 1 



88 



BRIEF LIFE 




Outside the walls of Assist, 
the rosy light of daivn strikes 
the battlements and towers: 
but the gateway still lies in 
shadow. From within comes 
the sound of feet on the 
paved causeway, and a heavy 
jangling of keys. The gates 
slowly open, and one sees a 
narrow tortuous street, the 
lower windows of which here 
and there show a light. 
As the Porter emerges he stumbles upon an obstacle and stoops 
to examine it. A Travelling Merchant with his head resting 
on a large pack is what he sees, and the man being where he ought 
not to be, the Porter^ acting not vindictively but officially, kicks 
him again. 

PORTER. Here — you ! Get up ! 

MERCHANT \rousing\. Where am I ? 

PORTER. In the way. Out of it ! 

MERCHANT. Is this Assisi ? 

PORTER. Where else should it be ? 

MERCHANT. I didn't know. Three years have 
made a difference. The place has changed. What 
have you got walls for ? 

PORTER. Safety, of course, 
rich, it gets to have enemies. 

MERCHANT. Oh ! When I 
gate was shut, so I had to bide out. 
an enemv. 

39 



When a city grows 



came 



last night the 
But I wasn't 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PORTER. What have you got there ? 

MERCHANT. Same as always : cloth. Rare kinds, 
too. 

PORTER. What are those ? 

MERCHANT. Samples. That piece comes from 
Persia. 

PORTER. Where 's Persia ? 

MERCHANT. Back of Constantinople. 

PORTER. A long way ! All cloth, you say ? 

MERCHANT. Aye : the very finest. 

PORTER. Pietro Bernardone 's the man for you, 
then. 

MERCHANT. He uscd to be. Still alive, is he ? 

PORTER. More than ever. He 's grown rich. 

MERCHANT. Oh ? Did he build this wall ? 

PORTER. No. The citizens did that between 
them ; and quick about it too, for a good reason ! 

MERCHANT. Why ? 

Enter an old Peasant carrying a load of vegetables. 

He walks as though his hack pained him, 

and whines cheerfully as he goes. 

PEASANT. Ay -ah ! Ay-ah ! Ay -ah ! 

[He stops to change shoulders. 
PORTER. Oh, ho ! Jacopo, you are the first. 
PEASANT. Ay-ah ! Ay-ah ! Ay-ah ! 

[He passes into the city. 
MERCHANT. Why had they to be quick ? 
PORTER. To keep out the banished lords. 
They 'd a fight for it. 

MERCHANT. Who ? 

PORTER. The lords first, on their own ; then 
Perugia joined in. Now it 's peace again — for a bit. 
40 



BRIEF LIFE 

MERCHANT. Pciugia ? I was of half a mind to go 
there yesterday. 

PORTER. You did better to come here. 

MERCHANT [looMng back the way he has come]. 
Yes ? One sees plenty of country anyway. No- 
thing changed out there. 

PORTER. Not ? Can you see the Count's castle ? 

MERCHANT [changing the direction of his gaze]. 
It 's gone ! 

PORTER. Aye. When his back was turned they 
pulled it down — ^to build these walls with. [Chuck- 
ling] He didn't like it ! 

MERCHANT. Things have happened 1 

PORTER [with relish]. Aye ! 

MERCHANT. So that 's why I had to sleep out. 
Does Bernardone still live where he used to do ? 

PORTER. Same street : new house. The largest 
you can find. 

MERCHANT. He had a son, I remember, — a very 
gay youth ; easy at business. Always gave the 
price that one asked him. 

[As he speaks, a Citizen comes through the gate, 
and stands awhile before setting forth. 

PORTER. Signor Francesco ? 

MERCHANT. Oh, was that his name ? 

PORTER. Ah ! He has been busy dying, for the 
last — I don't know how long. 

MERCHANT. Dying ? What ails him ? 

PORTER. Some sort of fever : gaol fever most 
likely. He was prisoner in Perugia for over a year. 
I haven't heard that he 's dead. 

CITIZEN. Nay, and you will not. To-day Signor 
Francesco is up and out again. 
41 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PORTER. So ? He 'd always a lot of life in him. 
Out, you say ? 

CITIZEN. As I came forth I passed him — looking 
more like a wax taper than a man. How come you. 
Traveller, to Assisi so early ? 

MERCHANT. Bccausc last night your city shut its 
mouth at me. Oh well ! if walls stand for wealth, 
I '11 not complain of them. 

CITIZEN. You come at a good time. This is our 
market day. 

MERCHANT. Market ? One can't sell Persian 
cloth in a market-place, except it were in the days 
of Solomon. You aren't all so rich as that yet. 
[He goes into the city. A Townsman comes out, 
and begins setting up his tooth in a corner by 
the gate. While he does so, peasants enter, carry- 
ing wine-shins, oil, fruit, vegetables, etc. With 
some of these he presently barters an exchange. 
PORTER. So ! Signor Francesco lives, does he ? 
CITIZEN. Aye : if it be not his ghost. As I passed 
he seemed not to know me. 

PORTER. You are off early, good Signor. 
CITIZEN. To be in Spoleto before nightfall. 
PORTER. Easy enough now the days grow longer. 
CITIZEN. The vines are beginning to look green. 
PORTER. Things were late, but they 're coming on 
now. 

CITIZEN. Late is what I must not be. So, friend, 

God keep you ! \He goes. 

PORTER. And may you, Signor, return safely. 

{Crossing to the other side of the gate from the now 

erected booth, he takes out some bread and 

olives, and begins eating. Inside the gate 

42 



BRIEF IJFE 

appears the figure of Francesco. A church- 
hell tolls a single stroke. He halts ; the sound 
seems to shake him. 
PORTER. Somebody dead. Who '11 that be ? . . . 

Now I — I can remember — I can remember when 

{His reminiscence is interrupted by the entry of 
FRANCESCO who tottcrs through the gate leaning 
upon two sticks. He is very pale and thin, but 
his eyes are bright and eager. The prospect 
ahead absorbs him to the exclusion of all else. He 
halts and looks over the country lying before him. 
PORTER. Signor Francesco ! Is this you — or 
some other ? 

FRANCESCO [breathing deeply]. Ah ! . . . Ah ! . . . 
Oh, there 's the world again ! Beautiful world ! 

PORTER. Signor Francesco ! So it 's true : you 
are alive again. 

[Inside the gate two townsmen are seen pitching 
their booths to right and left of the entrance. 
FRANCESCO [^^^7/ in a dream]. Am I ? 

[He turns feebly to a seat under the wall, and 

from there once more fixes his eyes on the 

prospect before him. 

PORTER. Well, well, well ! I don't like the look 

of that. It 's not Signor Francesco as we knew him. 

TOWNSMAN. No. 

Enter two Peasant Women, laden for the market, 
quarrelling as they come. 

1st WOMAN. And I say 'twas mine ! Here, give 
it me ! [She makes a snatch. 

2nd woman. 'Twasn't yours : and won't never 
be yours ! 

43 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

1st woman. He promised he 'd give it me. 
2nd woman. He thought better, then. He 's 
had enough of you. That 's why ! 

1st woman. You fat cheat ! I '11 scrape the 
dirty flesh off you ! 

2nd woman. You touch me ! 

[She throws down her load. Enter a Peasant. 
PEASANT. Here ! Get on ! Get on ! You two 
she-asses, what are you braying for ? 

[He strikes at them with his staff, and drives 
them before him. They enter, disputing 
volubly. 
In with you ! In ! In ! 

[Drover and driven disappear through the gate. 
Others pass in and out. To all these Fran- 
cesco pays no attention. Out of the city 
Lucio comes running : looking anxiously 
ahead, he misses sight of Francesco. 
LUCIO. Francesco ! [He continues to run.] Fran- 
cesco ! 

PORTER [calling him hack]. He 's here. 
LUCIO [turning, surprised]. Francesco ! I called 
thee. 

FRANCESCO. Aye ? 

LUCIO. What is the matter ? 

FRANCESCO. Look ! 

LUCIO. Well ? I am looking. 

FRANCESCO. What dost thou see, Lucio ? 

LUCIO [at a loss for his meaning]. Hills . . . 
trees . . . valleys . . . vineyards . . . the river 
. . . the road going down. There, south, lies 
Foligno, there, west, Perugia. • . . All the world, 
Francesco ! 

44 



BRIEF LIFE 

FRANCESCO [despondently]. Aye. 

Lucio. And green grass . . . [francesco sighs 
deeply] and sunshine. Anything else ? . . . What 
wouldst thou have me see ? 

[The Porter goes in through the gate. The 
Townsman sits down behind his booth. No 
one comes by. 

FRANCESCO. Everything is dying. 

LUCIO. Dying ? Nay, it is spring, not autumn I 
see here. 

FRANCESCO. I Only see — ^Death. 

LUCIO. But thou art alive again. 

FRANCESCO. For a while, for a little while. 

LUCIO. Thou art still weak : but soon thou shalt 
get strong. 

FRANCESCO. No. 

LUCIO. Yes ; I promise thee ! 

FRANCESCO. How Can a man be strong that is 
afraid ? 

LUCIO. Of what ? 

FRANCESCO. Death. 

LUCIO [extenuatingly]. Death, — death ! To be 
sure, man is mortal. How else would he be 
here ? 

FRANCESCO [with a startled cry]. From thee also 
I hear it ! 

LUCIO. What ? 

FRANCESCO. The tolling of the bell. . . . Some 
day . . . some day ... I must die ! 

LUCIO. Is that news to thee ? 

FRANCESCO. I thought uot of it. Now I think — 
I see death everywhere. 

LUCIO. Come, come, Francesco I Get to bed 
45 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

again ! Thou hast neither wits nor feet to carry 
thee. Prithee go in with me ! 

[Paying no heed to him Francesco totters to his feet. 

FRANCESCO. Surely the world is beautiful. But 
I am blind. I cannot see ! 

Lucio. Not see ? 

FRANCESCO. Life I . . . Lucio, Death is waiting 
for me ! 

LUCIO [soothingly]. Not yet, not yet. 

FRANCESCO. Waiting ! . . . and I do fear it ! 

LUCIO. Francesco, thou art changed ! 

FRANCESCO. And yet thou knowest me, and wast 
once my friend ! 

LUCIO. And shall be ever ! To thee do I not owe 
That liberty which gave my love its life ? 

FRANCESCO. Make haste and have thy fill of it, 
ere thou die ! 

LUCIO. Sweet life ! 

FRANCESCO. Swcct dream ! 

LUCIO. Why, then, how sweet to dream ! 

FRANCESCO. Until we waken ! Lucio, haste thee 
to wed 
Ere breaks thy dream ! . . . Look ! 

LUCIO. What ? 

FRANCESCO. On youdcr bough 
Lighted a bird : and straight a leaf fell down ! 

LUCIO. Come, come, Francesco ! 
Show me again the face of ancient friendship ! 
What has become of thee ? Canst thou not laugh ? 
Give me again thy hand ; also thy love. 
Which is so dear to me, — for now I need thee ! 

FRANCESCO. God o' mcrcy ! That would help 1 
Why dost thou need me ? 
46 



BRIEF LIFE 

Lucio. For that same cause which, parting first, 
then bound 
My heart with thine. Help to keep safe Antonia ! 
Yesterday we were betrothed, we two — she and I. 

FRANCESCO. Oh, what a cooing of turtles is in 
that word ! 
' We two ; we two ; she and I ! ' 

But — if it be so — 
What need for further help ? Thy suit, thus granted, 
Declares her safely thine. 

LUCIO. No, no, Francesco ! 

There is much danger in it — ^more now than ever ! 
Rudolfo yields not to the plain persuasion 
Of her fixed heart's preferment, — hears not reason, 
Dismissal owns not, will not his claim surrender ; 
Not her will nor her father's can dissuade him 
From his stiff purpose. Darkly he doth pursue it. 
And where doors have but bolts, windows but bars. 
On some blind, fearful night he '11 find occasion 
To rob me of my heaven ! Oh ! Francesco ! 
Why have men hate for those that would hate none ? 
For this compassionate love which now I cherish 
Hath so o'erflown my spirit that henceforward 
I would love all men ! But — Rudolfo hates me ; 
And I do fear him. 

FRANCESCO. Whcrcfor shouldst thou fear him. 
Being so much the surer ? Shall he prove 
Less mortal than thou art ? 

LUCID. Wliat hast thou said, Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. Nothing, nothing, dear fool ! Would 
killing him 
Better thy love, — make thee more worthy of her ? 

LUCID. I never thought nor wished it ! 
47 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCESCO. Shall man's best virtue — 

Which is to love — become a rank offence 
When it is found in others ? In that he loves her. 
He is the better proved, the more thine equal. 
Oh, fear him not ! for then is thy love mortal. 
Through fear, as his through hate, which now lives 

only 
Because thou fear'st him. 

Lucio. Would that I could believe so ! 

Nay ! for his enmity he hath much reason. 
Seeing that, at first, his suit was the more favoured. 

FRANCESCO. Ncvcr by her. 

LUCIO. When did that weigh, Francesco ? 

A maiden's favour ! — ^which we, poor fools and 

lovers. 
Waiting to win, how often we lose all ! 
The favour was her father's ; so it became 
Rudolfo's, he being then so much the richer ; 
Till, in the people's rising, his estate 
Went racked to ruin. Then, to his misfortune. 
That vantage he once counted on, stood mine. 

FRANCESCO. And he and I com.panions in 
affliction ! 

LUCID. Contraries, rather : for he does not take it 
Simply, as thou dost. 

FRANCESCO. 'Twould uccd some wit to teach him 
To be as simple as I am. 

Lucio. There is one man 

Can teach him 1 Thou art full of a strange madness. 
Which, though I understand not how, Francesco, 
Makes men be other than they are by nature : 
Thyself the proof. Therefore, by dear example, 
Do thou confirm him to a more kind forbearance, — 
48 



BRIEF LIFE 

Or to such measure thereof, that he, henceforward. 
Shall hate me less. Do this for me, Francesco ! 

FRANCESCO. Say no more, Lucio! While yet I live 
Still would I serve thee. 

[rudolfo appears within the gate, 
LUCID. Comes my enemy ! 

\As RUDOLFO comes out, Francesco advances to 
meet him. lucio stands hack. 
FRANCESCO. Signor Rudolfo. 
RUDOLFO . Your pleasure, Signor ? 
FRANCESCO. I pray you give me greeting, and 

wish me life ! 
RUDOLFO. Oh, have thy life ! I grudge it not to 
any 
Who take not that which is mine. 

FRANCESCO. Bcstow on me 

Only such parts of thee as go a-begging 
When thou hast satisfied the claim of others. 
So help me life, I will be merry again ! 
RUDOLFO. That is well said. 
FRANCESCO. I mean — ^when I am stronger. 
RUDOLFO. Then shall I hope to see thee ! 
Farewell, Signor. Let me, at our next meeting. 
Find thee in better case, — ^and better company. 

\He goes out. 
LUCIO. He never spoke to me ; but all the 
while 
His eye was on me ! Some fixed and subtle purpose 
Hath in his heart found lodgment ; and his mind 
Is bent on evil. 
I am no coward, Francesco ; yet I fear him ! 

FRANCESCO. Lcave him to me ; and henceforth, 
as I live, 
D 49 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Thy fear shall find no cause. Come, Lucio ! 

I will be merry again. I will forget 

[Again the bell begins to toll. Francesco stops 
short. 
Oh, horrid sound ! How hollow and without hope. 
Bereft of harmony, that message comes 
Of some brief life now ended. Yet would that bell 
Sound merry among the rest ; only alone 
Its cry goes mournful ! 

[The bell tolls more insistently. Francesco 
stops and struggles with his fear. Suddenly 
he breaks into a wild cry. 
FRANCESCO. Life ! Life ! Let me have life ! 
[Letting fall the two sticks he leans on, he throws 
out his hands, in a gesture of welcome. He 
totters forward : his knees give under him. 
He falls into lucio' s arms. 
Thou seest, I have feet and can run ! Time 
cpnnot fly so fast as I can. Therefore I will be 
nficrry again ! Merry, merry, Lucio ! 

[He breaks into wild laughter. The bell tolls on. 
Out of the gate comes the funeral procession of 
a young child. The body lies on an open bier 
borne on the shoulders of children. The 
mourners follow. The laughter of Francesco 
stops dead. 



CURTAIN 



50 



BLIND EYES 




The scene is laid within the 
loggia of the market-square 
of Assist, through which a 
way of steps leads up into the 
church. The loggia is raised 
above the square, which, in 
bright sunlight and filled with 
booths, is seen through the 
arcade. A low balustrade 
joining pillar to pillar is 
broken under the second arch 
from the left by entrance 
steps, below which, on a lower level, are seen groups of Beggars. To 
the left side of the entrance stands a Blind Beggar in rags ; a shade 
cover's his eyes, in his right hand he carries a copper bowl for alms : 
his left arm projecting at an awkward angle is tremulous with 
paralysis. Between the third and fourth arch stands a table with 
benches, and further to the right is seen the door of a wine-shop 
opening into the loggia. The church entrance lies to the extreme 
left. Throughout the action Townsfolk are seen entering or return- 
ing from Mass ; as they pass, the Beggars greet them with cries of 
supplication : ' Charity, kind Charity ! ' ' Pity the poor ! ' ' Help 
the poor cripple!' 'Pity, kind friend!' accompanied now and 
again by short tags of Latin and the names of saints. 

[rinaldo, uberto, and lucio come up the steps 
from the square, uberto tosses and catches 
his cap as he goes, rinaldo and he are both 
laughing, lucio, smiling a little slyly, keeps 
to the rear oj the others. 
BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! 

[rinaldo tosses a coin into his bowl, lucio, 
51 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

following, looks at the Beggar with suppressed 
laughter, gives him a secret dig in the ribs 
and passes. The Beggar, ignoring the in- 
timacy, continues his cry : 
Pity the poor blind ! 
RiNALDO. Ho, Padrone ! 

[The PADRONE scuttles forward obsequiously, 
PADRONE. Signor ? 

RINALDO. Wine, Padrone ; — your best. 
PADRONE. To be sure, Signor, yes. . . . For how 

many, Signor ? 
UBERTO [ostentatiously counting]. One . . . two 
. . . three . . . and another is coming. 
PADRONE [in a tone of discovery). Ah ! four, 

Signor ? 
UBERTO. Four . . . precisely. 

[The PADRONE hurries away. 
Lucio, where is that son of Bernardone ? 

Lucio. Thou 'It find him here, all in good time, 

Uberto. 
UBERTO. Let him make haste ! Already 'tis 

near noon. 
BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! 

Enter paolo, who gives to the Blind Beggar in 
passi^ig. 

UBERTO. Paolo, hast seen Francesco ? 

PAOLO. Down at the Porta Spoleto two hours ago 
I saw him : giving money to a beggar, — 
And very merry about it. 

RINALDO [slapping his knee]. To a beggar ? 
Ha ! Now we 've tracked him. 

LUCIO. To what end, Rinaldo ? 
52 



BLIND EYES 

BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! 

RiNALDO. My fortune, and his ruin. His trick 
betrays him : 
He bribes a beggar, and I — win my wager. 

PAOLO. What is the wager ? 

UBERTO. Madness, noon-day madness I 

RINALDO. Why ! thirty ducats. 

Lucio. Which thou must pay Francesco. 

RINALDO. I ? — I pay him ? Catch me ! I will 
be hanged first. 

LUCIO. The rope is ready. 

PAOLO. Come, come, what wins the wager ? 

UBERTO. Francesco says that lying is more easy 
To be believed than truth. 

RINALDO. And honesty 

Less profitable than theft. And this he wagers 
That he will prove, here in the market-place, — — 

UBERTO. To-day. 

RINALDO. Will tell the same lie fifty times : 

UBERTO. Have it believed by all : 

RINALDO. Make money by it : 

UBERTO. And never have it questioned. 

BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the blind ! 

PAOLO. When does he do it ? Has there been 
set a time ? 

LUCIO. To-day, ere noon. 

PAOLO. Will he bring in his pocket 

The fools that shall believe him ? 

RINALDO. Why ! 'tis we 

Ourselves that are to believe him ! 

PAOLO. A stiff task ! 

UBERTO. Oh, he 's an excellent fool ! But this 
shall cost him. 

53 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Lucio. Not a penny, Uberto. 

PAOLO. What ? Wilt thou also lay 

A wager on it ? 

LUCIO. As I am a sportsman 

I wager nothing on that which I 'm so sure of. 

PAOLO. Well ! if he wins, the man 's a miracle. 

LUCIO. Wait, then ; see him perform it. 

Enter giovanni. He gives to the Beggar in passing. 

KJNALDO. Come, Giovanni, 

Here 's entertainment for thee. . . . Ho, Padrone ! 

GIOVANNI. What is it ? 

RiNALDO {to the padrone]. Another cup, more 
wine. Padrone. 

PAOLO. Francesco — at his tricks again. 

GIOVANNI. What now ? 

UBERTO. He is to tell us lies ; and we, being 
warned. 
Are to believe him. 

RINALDO. Nay, and that 's not all. 

On stroke of noon he swears to take and strip 
A cheating beggar. 

UBERTO. Beat him round the market, 
Rob him of all his money, give it to others, 

RINALDO. And the beggar is to forgive him ! . . . 
As to that. 
His measure has been taken : he has bribed one. 

LUCIO. So there you lose, Rinaldo. 

RINALDO. I' faith, I do not ! I have got him 
beaten. 
Had he bribed each jack man of them, I care not. 
He sets his trap : see me unbait it for him ! 

BLIND BEGGAR. Pity the poor blind ! 
54 



BLIND EYES 

[rinaldo signals to the Beggars seated on the 
steps below. 
RINALDO. Here — here, you fellows ! Aye, 'tis 
you I 'm calling ; 
You cripples, you blind bats, lame dogs, deaf mutes, 
Come, all of you ! 

BEGGARS. Pity ! Pity ! Charity ! Kind charity ! 
\They begin doubtfully to crowd toward him, 
still at a distance. 
RINALDO. Oh ! you '11 get charity, — in such good 
measure 
As you deserve. Mark, while I tell a tale ! 
Know you Francesco, son of Bernardone ? — 
Know you him, when you see him ? 
BEGGARS. Aye, aye, Signor ! 
BLIND BEGGAR. I know him well, Signor. 
RINALDO. Hither at noon 

He comes to jape, and jest, and mock at you. 
BEGGARS. Mock US ? Mock los ? How can he 

mock us, Signor ? 
RINALDO. Against two of us he hath laid a wager 
He will take one of you, for a cheating beggar, — 
First strip, then rob, then beat him round the market. 
BEGGARS. Take ? Strip ? Rob ? Beat ? 
RINALDO. What say ye ? Shall he do it ? 
BEGGARS. No, Siguor, no ! 
PAOLO. Lucio, Rinaldo 's winning ! 

[lucio shakes his head, smiling. 
RINALDO. Aye ! but there 's one whom he hath 

bribed to let him. 
BEGGARS. No, uo ; he shall not ! 
RINALDO. Then let that man stand out : 
And I will give him — hark you ! — twice the money, 
55 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Twice what Francesco offered. — ^Do you hear me ? — 
Twice — ^that he shall not let himself be beaten ! 

Lucio. Oh, excellent, Rinaldo ; excellent ! 

EiNALDO. Now let the fellow he hath bribed come 
forward ! 

BLIND BEGGAR. He bribed me, Signor. 

RINALDO. You ? — 2i blind man of all people ? 

BLIND BEGGAR. I am uot really blind, Signor ; I 
can run as fast as he can. When he beats me, I 
shall but run away. 

UBERTO. Why, here 's as big a rogue as he is 
himself ! 
How much did he promise thee ? 

BLIND BEGGAR. All that he got, Signor. 

UBERTO. All . . . that . . . he . . . got ! 

RINALDO. ' Got ' how ? 

BLIND BEGGAR. By his wagcr, Signor. 
RINALDO. Thou must be dreaming. That was 
thirty ducats. 

BLIND BEGGAR. And twicc makcs sixty, Signor. 
I am well content 
Not to get beat at all, — for sixty ducats. 

[rinaldo stands stupent : slowly the truth 
begins to dawn on him. 
Lucio. Rinaldo, thou art caught ! This trap was 
baited 
Too finely for thee. 

BLIND beggar [returning to his post]. Pity the 
poor blind ! 

[Up the steps from the square comes clara da 
sciFFi, a child of ten, very richly dressed, 
accompanied by her Nurse. 
. NURSE [pushing her way through the Beggars]. 
56 



BLIND EYES 

Come ! what a crowd is this ! Make way ! Make 
way ! 

CLARA. Wait, Nurse, oh, wait ! Look ! There 's 
a poor bhnd man. 

BLIND BEGGAR. Kind friends, pity, pity the 

poor 

[ CLARA Stops and looks up at the Blind Beggar 
with a face of pity. The Beggar's cry stops 
abruptly ; his arm ceases to jerk ; he stoops 
towards her. 
RiNALDO [his mind catching at straws^. He said 
— that he would give him — ^thirty ducats ! And — 
for his lie . . . [Conviction seizes him.] Out, cheat ! 
[ CLARA reaches up and puts a coin into the Blind 
Beggar's bowl. She passes on into the church. 
The Blind Beggar throws up his hands and 
falls to weeping. 
RINALDO. O cunning knave, I know thee ! 'Twas 
thyself 
Thou didst so bribe ! There, there ! Look at him ! 
Look! 

FRANCESCO. Ah ! pity me, sweet Jesu, pity me ! 
Oh ! what have I done ? 

PAOLO. Now say ! Is that Francesco ? 
FRANCESCO. Ayc, 'tis Francesco. Shame on thee ! 
oh, shame ! 
Thief, liar, trickster, cheat of charity ! 
Now will I punish him as he deserves. 
Unmask ! Do off thy cloak ! Strip, and make bare ! 
Out ! Out ! Have at thee ! So ! 

[He throws off his disguise, takes from his girdle 
a scourge of cords, and descends into the market- 
place, beating himself as he goes. The crowd 
57 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

follows him with murmurs of astonishment. 
The hell tolls the hour of noon. 
GIOVANNI. Is this for the wager ? 
PAOLO. Nay, 'tis madness ! See, 

See where he goes ! 

RiNALDO. The man is flaying himself ! 
Lucio. Francesco ! 

GIOVANNI. Look ! He tears off his coat ! 
PAOLO. Look ! He draws blood ! 
LUCIO. Pity, pity ! Francesco, spare thyself ! 
RINALDO. Nay ; look you ! look you ! Ah, ha ! 
GIOVANNI. He falls ! 
UBERTO. He rises ! 

LUCIO. Oh, stay ! Enough 1 Enough ! 
RINALDO. Thy fears be folly I 

'Tis but another lie ; he mocks us still ; 
Under his shirt is a wine-skin. 
UBERTO. 'Tis blood, Rinaldo ! 
RINALDO. I say 'tis wine. He beats, but does 
not feel it ! 
Thou priceless rogue ! All this for sixty ducats ! 
PAOLO. Hush ! Here he comes again. Way 
there, you fellows ! 

[The Beggars part to right and left. Fran- 
cesco re-enters, torn and bloody. Scourge in 
hand, he advances pale and trembling. 
SEVERAL. Well played ! Well played ! Oh, 

bravo ! Bravely done ! 
RINALDO. You 've bcatcu us, Francesco. 
UBERTO. We do own it ; 

And stand your debtors. 

RINALDO. Give me as happy a death I 

I would die laughing ! 

58 



BLIND EYES 

FRANCESCO. Why do you laugh, when you have 

lost your wager ? 
UBERTO. The joke, so played, was worth it ! 
FRANCESCO. You laugh. Brothers, 

Because you like to be lied to. So content you. 
The laugh is over ! 

RiNALDO. Not till we 've paid thee. Here is all 
I have : 
The rest must follow. 

[rinaldo and uberto offer him their purses. 
FRANCESCO. I am ashamed ! 

[He drops the scourge, and stands weeping, 
Lucio. Ah, me ! I feared so ! 
FRANCESCO. Hear me ! I will stand naked. 
What I did, 
I did in blindness. That I won pittance by lies. 
From you, and you, and you, — all that was 

nothing : 
For in your hearts ye had no charity. 
Your giving to the beggar did but help you 
The easier to forget him. Came another, — 
A little child : her eyes had sorrow in them. 
And in her heart was pity. Then I knew 
What I had done . . . the blind man's eyes were 
opened ! 
LUCIO [gently touching him]. Oh, come away, 

Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO [drawing away from him]. Then you 
saw. Brothers . . . you saw what I did. 
Oh, when I said that I would beat a beggar, — 
A cheating beggar, — ^round the market-place, 
Knew I how much he would deserve his beating ? 
Well . . . that is done. 

59 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

EiNALDO. Come ! take your winnings, and don't 

whine, Francesco ! 
FRANCESCO. My winnings ? . . . Ah ! Yes, yes : 
give me your money, 
And keep back nothing ! 

UBERTO [giving him the purses]. 'Tis all thine, 
Francesco ; and the rest follows. 
FRANCESCO. Mine ! 

[He moves slowly toward the crowd of Beggars, 
watching from below. 
RiNALDO. What madness now ? 
FRANCESCO. Oh, hearken, hearken to me, hungry 
Brothers ! 
All you poor, little, holy ones, whose needs 
I set at naught, whose outstretched hands I mocked: 
Come, let me kneel to you, and kiss your feet ! 
And take from me this load : this. Brothers, and this. 
And this ! Take all ! 

[He distributes the money among them. The 
Beggars murmur and chuckle confusedly as 
they scramble for the coins he throws them. 
Now, of your pity, and charity, pray for me 
That am a sinner ! 

RINALDO. Faugh ! The fellow 's mad ! 
UBERTO. I think thou art, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO. Aye, 'tis true I 

For when I was at liberty to do well. 
Then I did ill ! Come then, my friends, put bonds 
And chains on one that ought not to be free ! 

RINALDO. Here is a sickness that is past my curing : 
I understand it not ! 
UBERTO. I' faith, nor I ! 

Lucio. I think I do begin to. Now for the mending! 
60 



BLIND EYES 

Re-enter f from the church, clara accompanied by her 
Nurse. Francesco goes and kneels before her. 
He catches the hem of her robe. 
FRANCESCO. O little child, sweet lover of my 
Saviour, 
Forgive me that I robbed thee ! I am sorry. 
NURSE. Have miercy on us ! What mockery is 
this ? 
Sirrah, be pleased to let my mistress pass ! 
Nay, who, in God's name, are you ? 

FRANCESCO. I am the beggar that got sweet alms 
from thee. 
Pretending to be blind. Oh, was not that 
A sorry deed, — to steal kind charity 
In jest ? 

CLARA. Nurse, the poor gentleman is crying ! 
NURSE. And well he may ; and should have 
something to cry for. 
Had I the shaping of him ! Out of the way, 
Fellow, and let us pass ! Come, come ! Let be ! 
[Thrusting him aside she moves on. 
CLARA. I 'm sorry. 

[She stoops forward and kisses him. 
NURSE [looking back]. Heart of my heart's mis- 
tress, what street-kissing is this ? Off from it, off 
from it ! For shame ! Here 's a fine tale that shall 
be told of thee ! What shall thy father say ? 

[And so, scolding as she goes, she disappears with 
her charge, clara turns to look back. 
FRANCESCO in a gentle rapture gazes after her. 
FRANCESCO. She has forgiven me ! 
Saw you that, Brothers ? Did you understand ? 
Know you not what she was ? Oh, look, look, look! 
61 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PAOLO. What mean'st thou ? 

FRANCESCO. That — ^was Sister Charity ! 

MNALDO. Come, let us go, and to his madness 

leave him ! 
UBERTO. Farewell, Francesco ! Heaven bring 
thy wits 
To a better understanding ! 
FRANCESCO. Aye ! . . . Amen ! 

[Exeunt uberto, rinaldo, and paolo. 
GIOVANNI. Deal wisely with him, Lucio ! 
Lucio. He will do 

That for himself, Giovanni. Fare thee well ! 

[Exit GIOVANNI. 

[lucio stands watching Francesco without 
speaking. For a while Francesco stands 
quite still, lost to the world. Then very 
gently he begins speaking. 
FRANCESCO. Look, in what verity, 
When she begins, 
One kiss of Charity 

Covers my sins. 
What shall I say to her 

That was so kind ? 
This is my way to her — 

' Pity the blind ! ' 
Put off disparity 

And all disguise : 

Sweet Sister Charity, 

Open mine eyes ! 

CURTAIN 



62 



THE BRIDE FEAST 




Scene : A broad arched loggia 
opening upon a garden. To 
one side, on a low dais, is 
a table, set with fruit and 
flowers, at which the bridal 
party is seated. Night has 
fallen ; candles are lighted ; 
and across all but the central 
archway curtains have been 
drawn. Attendants pass 
in and out, removing the 
remains of the feast. A 
Servant bears round a bowl of rose-water into which the guests 
dip their hands; another follows with a napkin . The Two 
Lovers dip and dry hands together. Absorbed in each other they 
pay no heed to what goes on round them. 

BALD ONE. Our feast is over, but not our con- 
tentment ; 
Which, from such full assurance as here offers. 
Waits for more courses in the abundant future. 
ARNOLFO. Aye, surely ; if these young vows now 
in the making 
Bear fruit after their kind ! 

LUCREZIA. 

May one but live to see it ! 

BALD ONE. 

That may we all, Lucrezia. 

UBERTO. 

Fruit should come quick ; and make you, Messer 

Baldone, 
Young in your ancestry. 

68 



Signor Arnolfo, 
Wherefor doubt ? 
From such blossom 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BALD ONE. It should do. Oil, were health the 
effect of favour. 
And youth as catching as it appears attractive 
To her eyes now, I 'd be a boy again ! 

LUCREZiA [watching the lovers]. So lost to the 

world already ! 
ARNOLFO. Their love so wraps them 

They are abed each in the other's eyes. 

BALD ONE. The time 's still early : they withdraw 
too soon 
From our society. 
LUCREZIA. But out of such a dream who shall 

dare wake them ? 
BALD ONE. I will. Autonia ! 

[The call goes unheeded, 
ARNOLFO. You : Lucio ! 
UBERTO. Thy father calls thee, Lucio. 
LUCIO. Sir ? 

ARNOLFO. Return to us awhile ! Are ye departed 
Ere ye have said good-night ? 

LUCIO. 'Tis a good -night, sir, though it be not 
said : 
It needs not saying. 

BALD ONE. Truly, I think not either ! 
Love is a wondrous wine : it goes down sweetly. 
Causing the lips of them that dream to speak. 
Server, draw back the curtains, and let cool night 
Breathe on us with all her spices ! 

[The curtains are drawn back, disclosing a 
garden of deep dusk in which moonlight is 
faintly beginning. All the Attendants but one 
have now gone. 
LUCREZIA. Hark, a bird sings. 
64 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

ARNOLFO. Then Lucio must sing louder. 

Thou hast a rival, boy. Take up thy lute ! 

[A figure in cloak and hood, wearing a mask, 
crosses the garden and halts behind one of the 
pillars. There he stands, looking fixedly at 

ANTONIA. 

LUCIO. Aye ; if Antonia will first prove the 
strings. [He offers her his lute. 

ANTONIA [striking a chord]. There are the keys for 
thee. 

LUCID. The song is sung. I cannot better it. 

[He lays the lute down again. 
BALD ONE. His plight stays hopeless ! 
Here is to thy recovery, Lucio. [Drinks. 

And thine, Antonia, — if thou share his sickness. 
ANTONIA. Indeed I do : nor ever of mine own 
will 
Wish to be cured ! 

BALD ONE. Well, well, since you deny us. 
We must have other minstrels. What is this masque 
That they are bringing us ? 
Lucio. It is Francesco's. 

BALDONE. Francesco Bernardone's ? He is thy 
friend ? 
I have heard tell of thy much love for him. 

LUCIO. And there 's more of it. Till I beheld thy 
daughter. 
He was half the world to me. 

ARNOLFO. 'Twas a rare friendship, seeing he was 

thy rival. 
LUCIO. 'Twas a rare man. Father. He hath a 
heart 
So foolish and so tender, that whoso wins it 
E 05 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Finds himself beaten. Is it not to him 

I owe the peace which gives present completion 

To my fair fortune ? 

BALD ONE. Aye ? what peace mean you ? 

LUCID. Sir, he hath wrought Rudolf o 
(Whom once you did prefer, and to his suit extend 

some favour) 
Out of his jealous anger unto acceptance 
Of that which finds us here. So, to-night, brings 
Rudolfo with him, a partner in his pageant. 
For token of fair amity and peace. 
Contention being ended. 

BALD ONE. He deserves well, that over his own 
heart 
Thrones and makes prosperous the loves of others. 

ANTONiA [rising]. Oh ! See there ! See there ! 

BALD ONE. What now, Antonia ? 

ANToi<iiA [pointing]. There ! . . . Methought I saw 
Death, looking at me ! 

LUCREZiA. How — looking ? 

BALD ONE [to Attendant]. Go ; see what it is ! 

ANTONIA. Yonder he stood — ^without. 

ATTENDANT. Nothing is there. Lady. 

BALD ONE. Come, these are maiden fears ! Even 
as do children 
Upon their way to bed behold hobgoblins — 
Yet dream not of them, once they are asleep. 
Therefore fear nothing. Lucio holds thee safe. 

LUCID [drawing antonia apart]. What was it, 
Antonia ? Hast thou fear of me ? 

ANTDNIA. No, no, UO ! 

LUCID. Look, what a moon is on us ! Up in heaven 
Our lamp is lighted. Thither will we climb. 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

BALDONE. Hark ! Here comes music. What ? 
Is the masque beginning ? 

[In the garden appear Minstrels. Enter a 
golden CUPID, crowned with roses, and bear- 
ing a red bow and red arrows. 
CUPID. Gallants, lords, and ladies gay. 
Hither I am sent to say : 
' Make you ready for our play ! ' 
UBERTO. A pretty wench ! Who art thou ? 
CUPID. I am not a wench, sir, but a boy ; and to 
tell thee who I am, comes later. 

BALDONE. Get on with thy part, then, and have 
done with it ! 

CUPID. I will begin it again ; for your speech 
hath put me out. I pray you, do not stop me ! 
Gallants, lords, and ladies gay. 
Hither I am sent to say : 
' Make you ready for our play ! 
UBERTO. This is no boy : it is a parrot ! 
CUPID. Me, as Cupid, ye shall know. 
Every dart that I let go 
Bringeth unto weal or woe. 
UBERTO. Aye : if thou miss not ! 
LUCREZiA. Uberto, prithee ! 
CUPID [advancing toward antonia]. 
Lady, now to do my part, 
'Gainst the fortress of thy heart, 
Thus at thee I loose my dart. 
[He shoots an arrow which misses and is picked 
up by Lucio. 
ANTONIA. Thy dart hath strayed, Cupid. 
CUPID. Nay, Lady : for Signor Lucio hath it ; 
and soon will he have thee. 
C7 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BALD ONE. He hath answered thee well, daughter ! 
ANTONiA. I doubt not, — ^being such a big Cupid. 
CUPID. I will make thee a big lady ere nine 
months be gone. 

UBERTO. What— thou ? 
BALD ONE. Come, come ! is this thy part ? 
CUPID. No, sir : that will be Signor Lucio's. 
BALD ONE. A saucy rascal ! Go : keep to thy 
book ! 
What else ? 

CUPID [presenting a rose]. 

Lady, this flower which did grow 
Out of his love for Lucio, 
Francesco sends to thee. 
And, praying it may there find rest. 
He bids me plant it in thy breast. 
And happy mayst thou be ! 
ANTONIA. Thy rose was better aimed than thine 
arrow, Cupid. Tell the giver that I thank him. 
CUPID [presenting a cup]. 

This cup to thee Rudolfo sends. 

And when he comes will make amends 

Of what it lacks for thee. 
For then he '11 fill it to the brim. 
And with such fortune make it swim. 
That happy shalt thou be. 
ANTONIA. Tell him I will have it ready ; and 
thank him. 

[cuPiD makes as if to speak again, then stops. 
BALD ONE. Well, hast thou any more to say ? 
CUPID. There was more, sir ; but I have for- 
gotten it. [Music begins.] This that comes now 
is our Lady of Fame ; to her follow others. All 

as 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

this I was to say : and so having done, I take my 
leave ! [He runs out. 

LUCREZiA. A pretty Cupid ! 

UBERTO. And a confident, — that, having lost his 
way, found it again. 

Enter fame, attended by Trumpeters. 

FAME. Where place and power once stood adored. 
Time, the swift sower, comes and sows. 
Wisdom and wealth, with wonder stored. 
Have met dark Fortune's overthrows. 
Down from his throne the monarch goes. 
Back in its scabbard rusts the sword ; 
But on the mount of Beauty blows 
The blameless blossom of the rose ; 
And like a summit crowned with snows 
The stronghold stands where Love is lord. 

Captain, and Councillors, and Kings, 

Of all dominions and degrees. 

Merchants that ship the heaving seas. 

And every argosy that brings 

The spiced East beneath its wings — 

What use was theirs round world to rove, 

All wars to win, all storms to prove. 

Or by the fixM stars to move, 

If, in the end, they have not love ? 

When desolate on Naxos' sands. 
Bright Ariadne wrung her hands. 
And her grief for Theseus wasted. 
Over the foam a fragrance blew 
Of joys her heart had not yet tasted. 
Then came Bacchus with his crew, — 
69 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Shipt their oars, let down their sails. 

Loosed to land the scented gales 

Of their vineyards, which had borne them 

Company across the foam : 

For the vine -leaves, who hath worn them, 

Where they twine shall find a home. 

Drink of this immortal wine ; 

Let the cup of joy be thine ! 

[Bacchic music is heard without. Revellers 
enter the garden, bearing bacchus upon 
their shoulders. They halt, and cupid 
speaks, 
CUPID. Lady, here in my employ, 

Bacchus comes to give you joy. 
And here, close upon his track. 
Troops of Folly at his back. 
Comes the breaker of all rules. 
Mate of mirth, the King of Fools. 
[The Bacchanals move forward to the entrance. 

Enter behind them, to light music, other Revellers, 
bearing the king of fools upon their 
shoulders. 

Herald of the glad event, 
I before their face was sent. 
Rose and wine -cup to present : 
Love and joy. 
[The two troops of Revellers join instruments. 
At the entrance bacchus sits in pomp, mute 
and motionless, while the king sings. 
KING. When day goes down. 
When day goes down. 
On the little hill -town of Assisi, 
70 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

In bridal crown. 

And lily-white gown. 
Oh, lay thee down and lie easy ! 
BACCHUS. With wine-cup red. 

And rose-crowned head. 
Oh, surely thy bed shall be easy ! 

For there shall be laid. 

In the cool moon-shade. 
The fairest maid of Assisi. 

Led in by cupid, and singing together, they enter, 
and stand ranged to right and left o/fame. 

KING and BACCHUS. Come, holy night. 
Let stars show bright. 
And wind from the south blow breezy. 
To give delight. 
And Love his right 
In the fairest maid of Assisi ! 
[While BACCHUS and the king of fools remain 
mounted, other Revellers move forward with 
music and dancing. A seat is placed for the 
bridal pair in front of the dais, cupid leads 
them to it under a shower of roses and vine- 
leaves. BACCHUS and the king of fools 
dismount and advance. 
king [to antonia]. Love was the Rose I sent. 
Therewith, oh, be content ! 
As Love was given to me. 
The gift was free. 
BACCHUS. Joy was the Cup I sent. 
Therein I '11 find content. 
Where hope lies dead. From me 
The gift is free. 
71 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

KING. That rose, once mine, now thine, — 

Oh, cherish still ! 
BACCHUS. That cup, once mine, with wine 
Now let me fill. 
[cuPiD goes forward, receives the cup from 
ANTONiA, and returning, holds it up while 
BACCHUS pours in the wine. 

This is the cup of my good will. 
If but one drop of it thou spill. 
Thou hatest me : but if thou drain 
Deep, deep — I have thee mine again. 
[His voice is strange : Francesco turns, startled, 
and looks at him. 
bald ONE [uneasily]. Thine ? 
RUDOLFO. In it are all my wishes. Oh, drink 
deep ! 

ANTONIA [drinking]. 'Tis a sweet wine, — ^and 
strange ! 

RUDOLFO. Aye. 
ANTONIA. Taste it, Lucio. 

RUDOLFO [snatching the cup]. By this hand, no ! 
My wine is given to thee. 
And to no other ! [lucio starts up. 

Let Lucio live ! A long life be thy doom ! 

[He throws the cup down. 

FRANCESCO. HoW HOW, Rudoifo ? 

ANTONIA. Oh, I am blind ! [She staggers back. 
lucio. Look ! Look ! 

ANTONIA. All 's darkness. Help ! Where art 
thou, Lucio ? [She falls. 

FRANCESCO. What hast thou done, Rudoifo ? 
RUDOLFO. That which I swore. She 's mine ! 
LUCIO. O coward, villain ! 
72 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

Hell hungers for the soul that could conceive 
So damned a deed. Thither betake thee ! 

[Drawing his dagger he rushes upon rudolfo. 
RUDOLFO catches up his hand and stabs him in 
the side. 
BALD ONE. Hold, hold him, fellows ! 
RUDOLFO. I thank thee, Francesco ! 
Finish thy play ; cry ' Curtain.' . . . Exit ghost ! 

[He fights his way out. 
BALD ONE. After him ! Follow ! Let him not 
escape ! 

[Exeunt several in pursuit. 
LUCID [falling beside antonia]. Oh ! why am I 
not slain ? 

ANTONIA. Lucio, whcre art thou ? Lucio ! 
LUCID. Here ! 

ANTONIA. I cannot find thee : hold me ! Let me 
know ! 

LUCID [embracing herl. Take ! Take ! Into thy 
lips I '11 pour my life ! 

ANTONIA. Enough, no more ! My soul is filled 
with thee. 
Live, Lucio, live ! [She dies. 

LUCREZIA. Sweet spirit ! from that prayer 
Her breath returns not back. 
BALD ONE. O piteous sight ! 
Two lovers laid : and this their marriage night I 

FRANCESCO. O fool ! fool ! fool ! 
Alas, this was my doing : the blame was mine. 
I thought to have made peace ; and here instead 
Of reconciliation have wrought death. 

BALDDNE. Evil past reckoning was in our midst. 
What couldst thou know of it ? 
73 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Go, some of you, and hither bring a bier 
To bear away the body. This affliction 
Hath struck too deep for words. See to it swiftly ! 
[Attendants go out. Gradually the Masquer- 
aders follow. Francesco goes and kneels by 

LUCID. 

FRANCESCO [toucMng Mm]. Lucio. 
Lucio. Ah, no ! Francesco, let me be ! 
Dead, she lies dead ! This must I stay to see ? 
Oh, 'tis not possible. I cannot live 
Without her. 

FRANCESCO. No ; thou canst not, Lucio. 
LUCIO [startled]. What dost thou say ? 
FRANCESCO. Thou caust not, Lucio. 
For she and thou being one, where'er thou art 
She will be also. 

LUCIO. Ah, God ! What was it ? — that word 1 
have forgotten : 
Something she said ? 

[Bearers bring in the bier, and stand waiting. 
FRANCESCO. 'Tis in thy soul ; and memory shall 
restore it. 
When thou canst bear it better. 

[baldone signals. The Bearers lift the body 
and lay it upon the bier. Francesco takes 
hold 0/ lucio the while. 

Lay down thy head. 
And hold her in thine arms as in thy heart. 

BALDONE. Nay ; for the time has come, and they 

must part. 
FRANCESCO. I pray you leave them ! They are 
better thus 
Than with our tenderest care we could provide them. 
74. 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

Leave them alone together. And you, fair comrades. 
While ye attend without, take heart for us. 
Lest by ourselves we break into weak atoms 
And to our rising come again no more. 
Be ye Love's instruments, and let your music 
Fall on the night like dew, that she may feel it. 
Soft where she lies. 

[bald ONE signs to an Attendant to close the 
curtains. All go out : lucid and Francesco 
are left alone. Francesco approaches, and 
bends over the dead antonia. 
FRANCESCO. O Death ! . . . O Sister Death ! 
Here hast thou found me out : and thy chill breath 
I fear no more. 

VOICES [without]. Come, come, sweet death of day. 
And on her beauty lay 
Life's crowning grace : 
Of all that here lies lost one gift restore ! 
The light of vanished hours. 
The ghosts of parted flowers, 
Meet in that face 
Which knows them now no more. 

[The singing goes softly on. 
LUCID. Oh, look ! look, what a star 
Lost in deep night goes yonder ! 

[He takes up the fallen wine-cup. 
This fatal cup, now emptied, could I share, 
I would be with thee yet. O sweet, sweet 

draught ! 
O comb of the yellow honey ! form of wax, 
W^here once was warmth, come to my lips again ! 
Yea, to my lips ! I '11 taste thee till I die. 

[He kisses her. Francesco goes apart. 
75 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

VOICES [without]. Beauty to have and hold. 
Deep cup fulfilled with gold. 
This was the joy 
Wherewith from dawn to dusk she decked her hours. 
All beauty now lies strown ; 
Spilled from the cup has flown 
The bright alloy. 
Her wealth is withered flowers. 

[The singing ceases, 
Lucio. What is that singing ? 
FRANCESCO. 'Tis the bride -bearers. Oh, sing on, 
sing on ! 
If ye have melodies to heal man's woe. 
Let these ears drink the sound ! 

VOICES [without]. Thus, with a dying race. 
Day turns and doth embrace 
Sweets passed to air ; 
And stirless now around that starlit head 
There lies a richer wreath ; 
And secretly beneath 
The fallen hair 
The clasp of all things dead. 

LUCIO. ' Of all things dead.' Whereof I, too, am 
one ! 

[He searches for his missing dagger, finds it, 
and makes ready for death. 
FRANCESCO [as though unaware]. Nay, Lucio, lay 
thee down again, and rest ! 
This is thy bridal chamber. To her counsel 
Commit thyself. Yonder her beauty lies 
In love embalmed. So, as she bids thee,-— -be I 
LUCIO. How — ' be ' ? 
FRANCESCO. Livc, Lucio ! 
76 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

LUCIO. No. 

FRANCESCO. And serve her still. 
Come, ease thy heart ; take flowers, take flowers, 
and strew ! 

[He brings flowers and offers them to lucio. 
It profits not the dead : yet it gives comfort 
Here to the living. 

LUCID. Comfort thyself, Francesco ; but I live not ! 
These things to me mean nothing. 

[FRANCESCO lays the flowers about the face, 

hands, and breast of the dead antonia. 

LUCIO watches him for a while. Faint music 

continues without. 

LUCIO [suddenly catching his hands]. Let be ! 

Let be ! Enough ! 

FRANCESCO. Oh, hear me, Lucio ; and forgive 
this voice 
That with its own grief breaks into thy sorrow ! 
I loved her with a love not less than thine ; 
Inseparable from my thought she grew. 
Till, in more love for thee, to me she died. 
Her sweetness — ^all the mystery of that Rose 
Rooted in heaven — out of my Hfe was taken. 
But in thy bliss I saw what might be mine ; 
So gave my dream to thee ; which, through thy love. 
Lived still. Take, Lucio, from my heart now take 
This living dream, this love : keep it, 'tis thine ! 
My cherishing hath not stained it. Be it as safe 
Now, henceforth, in thy keeping. 
LUCIO. I '11 take it to her, Francesco. 
FRANCESCO. Aye, some day. 
But by that road think not to find her now I 
It lies too dark. 

77 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Lucio. ' Too dark ' ? Where else dwells she ? 
FRANCESCO. Surely in light, Lucio. We know it 
is so ; 
Though with weak eyes we see not. Take up thy 

love, 
And like fresh flowers pile it upon this earth. 
Till thou hast made a monument more fit. 
More worthy of her, that men beholding say — 
' There proved stands Lucio's love, — in life not 

death.' 
Owe her thy life, Lucio ! Death is but dust : 
Sprinkle not that in ashes on her grave ! 
Meekly she means to plead for thee in heaven. 
Lucio, shall thine be the first guilt she knows ? 
What ? Shall thine own hands part thee from her 

for ever ? 
Slay not that love which seeks its life from thee ! 
Thou 'rt but a little house ; yet through thy 

window 
She shines into the world, and makes — less dark. 

[lucid falls down weeping upon the body. 
Yea, take thy plunge in grief, and in that wave 
Swim, and find strength ! Live on, and tell to 

others 
How much we loved her ! 

LUCIO. Oh ! 'Tis not possible ! 

[But FRANCESCO knows that it now is ; and so 
prepares to leave him, 
FRANCESCO. No word of mine 
Henceforth shall trouble thee : I will be dumb. 
But to thy heart, — ^her word, her dying word. 
Which like a dove winged faint back to this ark, 
That on dark waters floats and sees no shore, — 
78 



THE BRIDE FEAST 

Her word, which was her prayer, this thou must 

grant : 
' Live, Lucio, — Hve ! ' 

[Leaving lucid alone by the dead body, he 
retires apart ; takes up a lute, and in a low 
voice sings — 

This love I gave to thee. 

That bettered it might be. 
From me it went not when to thee 'twas given : 

Bestowed, it grows not less ; 

That thou and I possess 
This double-single, is the gift of Heaven ! 

Also her secret. Here 

No parting doth appear : 
This thing is one, whether thine eyes or mine 

Be windows thereunto. 

Here wisdom, searching through. 
Finds Love at home : into God's courts they shine. 

So, in the broken bread. 

Love, by Himself goes fed. 
And finds release in each life-healing deed. 

And, through all hands which serve. 

We take, taste, and preserve 
That life of endless love which fits our need. 

{Re lays down the lute, puts out the lights one by 
one, and goes out. 



79 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 




Scene: A Court of Love. 
Enthroned against a hack- 
ground of pinewood, in a 
formal garden adorned with 
fountains, sits the Queen of 
Beauty surrounded by her 
maidens. Soft music is play- 
ing, while the Prolocutor, 
thin and elderly, in legal 
attire, sets people to their 
places. 

A flourish of trumpets is 
heard, and three of the combatants, Rinaldo, UbertOj and 
Giovanni, enter led on by a youth in herald's dress. Cloaked and 
hooded, each carrying an instrument of music, they halt and salute. 

RiNALDO. Prolocutor, have the lists opened ? 

POMPiLio. Nay, tarry, good Signor ! Not yet, 
not yet ! [He marshals them with his wand of office.] 
Be thus far, but no further. Then, when I signify, 
ye shall advance, each to his part in turn : and I 
to mine. 

UBERTO. Pompey is very full of himself, Rinaldo. 

GIOVANNI. And yet sounds empty. 

isoLA. There comes Francesco. 

MARGHERiTA. Who with him ? 

isoLA. Lucio Leone. 

JULIA. I feared he would not come. 

MARGHERITA. Why, who ? Frauccsco ? 

JULIA. Nay. I meant Lucio : having lately heard 
How deeply he still mourns. 
F 81 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

MARGHERiTA. For his lost bride ? 

JULIA. Unto his grief setting no bound nor limit 
In time or content. 

LAURA. And so proves the better 
What worth he found in her. 

Enter Francesco and lucio, cloaked and hooded ; 
LUCID in purple, Francesco in grey diapered 
with silver hearts. 

POMPiLio. Ye come late, Signers ; but in time. 
Dress you to your places ! Is it your pleasure. 
Lady, that we begin ? 

MARGHERITA. Aye, Call the Court ! Where is my 
part, Pompilio ? 
Give me that I may read it. 

[poMPiLio hands her a scroll. 
Nay, stand not by ; 
I will con this for myself, and better know it 
Than with you helping me. 

[pompilio stands hack, offended in his dignity. 
SEVERAL. Call the Court ! Call the Court ! 
POMPILIO. Aye : but have patience ! There is 
ceremony. Stand, and attend ! 

[He signals, and the Herald blows his trumpet. 
This is the Court of Love, and this its Queen — 
The Lady Margherita, to whom your pleas 
Ye will address severally and in turn. 
Courteously she will hear you, and will judge 
But by your merits. Wherefor, and now, give heed 
What task she sets you. It is your Queen that 
speaks. 
MARGHERITA [reading from the scroll]. Ye 
servitors of Love, that hither come 
82 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

To sound his praises, think you not to sum 
By single speech that which embraceth all, — 
Though how we know not. Earth he holds in thrall, 
And every heart, how different so e'er. 
Stands subject to his law, and of his care 
Daily hath need . . . 

[To POMPiLio] So far I read. Is my part ended ? 
poMPiLio. Nay, Lady, there is a turnover. 
MARGHERiTA. Oh ! [She turns the page.] 
Would ye weigh Love by touch, by sight, by tone ? 
Nay, judge not by the outward sense alone. 
But to your hearts look in, and there require 
Whence, if ye did lack eyes, would spring this fire ? 
Whence, if ye did lack hearing ? Or, say, whence 
Would Love arise, were man left without sense ? 
How think ye, sirs ? To him that best assays 
Love with true worship, we award the bays. 

POMPILIO. The lists are open. Servitors, are you 
ready ? Signor Rinaldo, begin ! 

[rinaldo advances, gives his cloak into the hands 
of an Attendant, and stands resplendently 
arrayed. He takes his guitar and sings, 
RINALDO. Live and make, live and make 
Honey, O my heart, and hive — 
All care above — 
Where in her breast, alive. 
Dwells love ! 
POMPILIO. That is good : that is passing good ! 
Nay, how can it be bettered ? 

MARGHERITA. Thine own making, Rinaldo ? 
RINALDO. Thine, most sweet lady. 
MARGHERITA. The hoHcy, mean you, or the song ? 
isoLA. Nay, he says that you are the honey. 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

MARGHERiTA. Then who eats it ? 
LAURA. Himself, so he proposes. 
MARGHERITA. That can wait. We will hear 
others. 

POMPiLio. Signor Uberto, the Court waits on you. 

[uBERTO uncloaks. 
UBERTO. My verse takes colour from Rinaldo's. 
[Sings] So meets and sips my soul, 
My soul with thine ! 
Ere this day closes. 
At thy sweet lips for goal 
I '11 quaff the wine 
Which Cupid brews from roses. 
POMPILIO. Now that is a deep song, and requires 
thinking. Oh but good, I say it is good ! 

MARGHERITA. Thou dost promisc thyself a rich 
draught, Uberto. 

UBERTO. Aye, truly, lady ! 

MARGHERITA. How wilt thou comc by it, except 
she grant it ? 

UBERTO. By mine eyes, lady ; for while they 
looked on thee, they drank ! 

MARGHERITA. Well, if that satisfies thee. Go 
thy way, Uberto ! 

JULIA. Uberto, she hath denied thee ! 
UBERTO. Sooth, I care not ! — when I see others 
fairer. 

POMPILIO. Signor Giovanni, hast thou aught to 
add to what these say ? [giovanni uncloaks. 

GIOVANNI. Give and take, give and take. 
No stings. 

But such sweet things 
In fairest hearts that lie ! 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

So to the brink 
I '11 come to drink anew — 
Not wine, not wine. 
But nectar pure as dew. 
Which from thy form divine 
In beauty springs. 
ISOLA. His heart is a very bucket, Margherita. 
Wilt thou fill it for him ? 

MARGHERITA. Would he get hence with it straight- 
way, 'twere a temptation ! 

poMPiLio. And now, Signor Lucio, for our Queen 
and this Court, what song have you ? 
LUCIO. None, Signor. 

POMPILIO. He says none, Lady. Then why is he 
here ? 

LUCIO. Truly I have a song ; but it belongs not 
to the living. 

MARGHERITA. If it belongs to love, Signor Lucio, 
we shall do well to hear it. 

LUCIO. Then if you will. Lady ! 

[He uncloaks and stands garbed in black. 
FRANCESCO takes his cloak, and plays his 
accompaniment. 
LUCIO [sings]. Bear, bear aWay, Death, 
Such sweets thou hast gathered ! 
No sweets are left in all the world for me. 
Round her spent breath 
Spring flowers lie scattered ; 
Blue eyes, like skies, I may no longer see. 

Over woods and streams 
Come soft sounds of breezes ; 
Such was her voice, which spake to me of late. 
85 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Now, save in dreams, 
Comes no sound that pleases 
Ears more forlorn than Echo of her mate. 

Yet rise, my heart, 
And fail not there to find her. 
Where, in true worth, dwell thoughts serene and 
pure ! 

No space apart 
Let dark distance bind her ! 
Share we, on earth, that life which shall endure ! 

[As FRANCESCO Strikes his lute for the next verse, 
LUCID stands mute and rapt. The playing 
ceases, lucid moves slowly away, and un- 
accompanied, continues singing. Passing 
through the midst of the Court, he disappears 
into the wood. 

From her bright worth 

Shall Time, for ever moving. 

Build up a shrine where Beauty may abide ! 

This deed on earth 

Hath Love done for proving 

How here for mortals all heaven lies wide. 

Bear, bear away. Death, 
All sweets of life departed ! 
Yet from true life no parting shall there be. 
From her slain breath 
Spring flowers arise young -hearted, 
And her blue eyes make heaven over me. 

[The silence, in which they all stand listening 
as the song dies away, is broken by the cold 
precise voice of the Prolocutor. 
86 



OUR LADY OF PO\^RTY 

POMPiLio. Not good. 

MARGHERiTA. What wondci have we heard ? 
Not by the words. 
But by the grief and joy therein made one, 
I judge that song the best ; and give the bays 
To him — to Lucio. 

SEVERAL. Good ! we are agreed. 

POMPILIO. Your pardon, Lady ! Yonder still 
waits one you have not heard : Signor Francesco. 

MARGHERITA. Ah, I had forgot ! 
Signor Francesco, thou wilt pardon me. 
I was too quick in honouring thy friend, 
Not having heard thee. 

[FRANCESCO stauds mute and motionless. 
Hast thou lost thy voice ? 

FRANCESCO. No, Lady : only my heart. 

ISOLA. What, again ? This is news, indeed ! 

[FRANCESCO uncloaJcs, and stands in rags. 

MARGHERITA. Whj, what is this, Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. The garb of love, Lady. 

MARGHERITA. Art thou bccomc so poor ? 

FRANCESCO. Nay, I am rich. This is the livery 
of her I love : and it cannot wear out. 

MARGHERITA. What is her name, Francesco ? 
May it be told ? 

FRANCESCO. Our Lady of Poverty. Hast thou 
never seen her ? 

MARGHERITA. I havc ncvcr heard of her. Where 
dwells she ? 

FRANCESCO. In hearts. Lady. 

MARGHERITA. Ill whosc, prithee ? 

FRANCESCO. First in mine own ; and from me 
goes to others. 

87 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

POMPiLio. Signer Francesco, thou art talking 
riddles. 
This is no love-song. Come, amend thee, 

amend ! 
Let 's hear no more of it : take up thy lute. 
And sing ! 

UBERTO. Tell us what she is like, Francesco ! 
What face ? What features ? 
FRANCESCO. Hear me, and I will. 
RiNALDO. To it, then ! To it ! 

[FRANCESCO stHJces upoYi Ms lute. 
FRANCESCO. Listen ! . . . 
She is most bright, radiant, and beautiful. 
Who serveth her, his heart stays ever young ; 
And wheresoever she goes free, he follows. 
All that he hath is hers — ^what she hath, his : 
And not, as Fortune, shall she turn away 
The lover from her bount}^ 

\He begins, still speaking, to make music for 
accompaniment. 
Fortune hath bonds, which Poverty unbindeth ; 
Fortune is blind, but Poverty hath eyes ; 
Fortune is fickle : Poverty is faithful ; 
Fortune is foolish : Poverty is wise ; 
Fortune diminisheth : Poverty increaseth ; 
Fortune departeth : Poverty stays yoked. 
Is not puffed up, — doth not behave unseemly ; 
Thinketh no evil, — is not soon provoked. 
All things she beareth, all things believeth. 
All things she yieldeth, seeketh not her own. 
Endureth, never faileth, comfort eth, shieldeth. 
So give I praise to Poverty alone ! 

[FRANCESCO lays down his lute, 
88 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

POMPiLio. A very vile song ; a rascal of a song ; 
a song without rhyme or reason ! 

GIOVANNI. And out of place, Francesco ; since 
at this time 
Our praise is not of Poverty but Love. 

FRANCESCO. Poverty and Love are one, Brother. 

RiNALDO. How make you that ? 

ruANCESCO. If you put cream in a churn, Rinaldo, 
and turn it round and about, — ^what comes of it ? 

RINALDO. Butter, thou fool. 

FRANCESCO. So, if the fool put Love into his heart 
And turn it well about, — even as butter from cream, 
So out of Love comes Poverty. 

MARGHERiTA. What brought thee to this pass, 
Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. Lovc, Lady. 

MARGHERITA. Aye ? But tell us more of it. 
For this is the strangest love-song that ever I heard. 

FRANCESCO. There were three friends. Lady, 
whose fortunes Love 
Found hard to reconcile. 

MARGHERITA. Do I uot loiow that stoiy ? 

FRANCESCO. Had come a day when each with 
separate eyes 
Looked upon one, and loved her. Very fair 
She was, Lady. So from that love came sorrow. 
And fear, and hate, and jealousy, making foes. 
Then from afar off I beheld that other. 
My Lady of Poverty ; with her sweet eyes 
She looked at me . . . tenderly. Then, seeking 

comfort. 
Still with a doubtful heart, I went to meet her. 
And, as I Avent, hatred and jealousy left me : 
89 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

And only sorrow remained. Then, as I came nearer. 
Sorrow went from me also ; and I was glad. 
For I knew, then, that I loved Poverty. 

MARGHERiTA. What happened then, Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. Bccausc I loved her, I gave my 
former love 
To him that was her dearest. The rest thou knowest. 
And now this day there be three living men. 
And one hath lost his love : therefore is sorrowful. 
And one hath cast off honour, faith, and friendship : 
Therefore is miserable. But I have found 
Sweet Poverty, and she is kind to me. 
Therefore am I happy. 

MARGHERITA. What wilt thou do, Francesco ? 

FRANCESCO. Love, follow, serve. 

MARGHERITA. Will nothing turn thee ? 

FRANCESCO. Whither should I turn ? 
Her ways lead everywhere. 

MARGHERITA. Stark ways, and stern ; 

But backward never ! So without rest or stay. 
Goes thy to-morrow from thy yesterday. 
Farewell, Francesco. Prolocutor, call the Court ! 

POMPILIO. Silence for the Queen ! 

MARGHERITA. Ladics and servitors, the lists are 
over. 
The crown is Lucio's. 

[The Court applauds. Music begins. The 
ladies and servitors form a figure, and dance. 
MARGHERITA taJccs the crown of bay and goes 

to FRANCESCO. 

MARGHERITA. Lovcr of Povcrty, wilt thou carry 
this crown 
To thy friend, Lucio ? 

90 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

FRANCESCO. Very willingly, Lady. 
MARGHERiTA. For his song pleased me better 
than did thine. . . . 
Tell him to lay it upon her grave, and say : 
' This wreath of bay, from one whom lovers praise. 
By my sweet song, in honour of thy dead days. 
At Court of Love was won.' 
Bid him say this ! 
And also — if she see 

This world where we now live in such brief bliss — 
Pray that she pray for me ! 

[She leaves him and joins the others, who are now 
about to leave, rixaldo, taking Francesco's 
cloak, throws it over his shoulder. 
RiNALDO. Come ! Put on thy feathers again ! 
Art thou not coming with us ? 

FRANCESCO. By your leave, no. Brother. 
RINALDO. Why then, to our next meeting ! And 
the Lord make thee merrier ! 
FRANCESCO [dreamily]. Aye. 
GIOVANNI. He heard thee not, Rinaldo. Truly 
he must be very much in love ! 

RINALDO. Francesco, of what colour ? 
UBERTO. She is black, but comely. 
MARGHERITA. Courtcous gentlemen, your attend- 
ance. 
Farewell, Francesco. 

[They go out singing. Francesco remains alone. 
[Song.] 
Orpheus, thy charm. 

Thy charm hath flown from earth. 
How shall we guard from harm 
Fair Beauty's worth ? 
91 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

How from the savage beast 

Pluck tooth and claw, 
And virtue hold released 

From ancient law ? 

Now, with a stronger charm, 

Comes Love to earth. 
Comes Love, and holds from harm 

Our Lady's worth. 
On rosy wings above. 
Fair godhead, hail ! 
And in the Courts of Love 
Let Love prevail ! 

[It grows dark : the song dies away, 
FRANCESCO. Farewell, gracious Lady ! 

[He starts, for the first time realising that he is 
alone. The sound of a bell approaches, — like 
a sheep-bell, dull and irregular. 
What is that sweet bell ? 

[He takes his lute and plays response to it. 
Enter a leper, his face covered by a hood with eye- 
holes ; the bell hangs at his girdle. A lute-string 
breaks under Francesco's hand : he starts 
violently. The leper halts in front of him. 

FRANCESCO [fearfully']. Who art thou, man ? 

LEPER. No man : a leper. 

FRANCESCO. Why art thou here ? 

LEPER. Till I be rid of life, I must be somewhere. 

FRANCESCO. Why art thou covered thus ? 

[The LEPER raises his hand toward his hood. 
Nay ! not thy face ! I fear it ! 

LEPER. I have none. I am a rotten carcase, 
waiting burial. 

92 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

FRANCESCO. God ! 

LEPER. But I have still a hand, and a mouth that 

can be fed. Satisfy my need, and you shall be rid 

of me. [The leper thrusts out a hand. 

FRANCESCO. Ah ! Keep thy distance. Leper ! 

Get thee gone ! [He shrinks hack. 

LEPER. I keep my distance till I die. Then rot 

takes all of us. We shall come together then, sure 

enough. 

[He moves off, his bell jangling as he goes. 
FRANCESCO Stands struggling with himself; 
the LEPER disappears. 
FRANCESCO. Leper ! . . . O friend ! . . . O mes- 
senger of God, come back to me ! 

[The LEPER returns and stands watching him. 
LEPER. You called ? 
FRANCESCO. Where dost thou dwell ? 
LEPER. At the Lazaretto, of course. Where else ? 
FRANCESCO. Are others there — ^like thee ? . . . 
Speak ! 

LEPER. A few. In the world there be thousands 
of us — all waiting to die. Where we live no one 
enters. Men shun us : we shun ourselves. Our 
own bodies have become vile to us. God hates us. 
He has taken away our souls. We don't fear hell. 
Life has done that for us 1 

FRANCESCO. Do uot fear hell ! 
LEPER. Fear is the getting there. Once you are 
in it, the fear is over. 

FRANCESCO. O God o' mcrcy ! . . . Brother . . . 
reach out thy hand ! 

[FRANCESCO empties his purse into the extended 
hand, then kneels and kisses it. 
93 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

LEPER. Why dost thou mock me, — kissing my 
dirty hand ? 

FRANCESCO. O Brother, thy hand is cleaner than 
is my heart to Him I love ! 

LEPER. ' Love,' eh ? 

FRANCESCO. But thou hast cleansed me : and my 
fear is over ! 

LEPER. Thy fear of what ? 

FRANCESCO. Of thee, Brother, — and Death ! 

LEPER. Death ? Ho ! If I could get enough of 
him, I should do well with it. He 's too slow at it ; 
he nibbles, and nibbles, letting us die by inches. 

FRANCESCO. Fair Brother, of thy charity pray 
for me ! 

LEPER. I — ^pray ? I pray for no man. What ? 
Do you think He 'd hear my prayers ? ... If He 
did — ^there 'd be more lepers ! 

FRANCESCO. There are, Brother ; there are ! 
Under this cloak — Oh, take it, and be warm ! See 
the foul thing I am ! 

[He uncovers, disclosing his rags, and gives his 
cloak to the leper. The leper eyes him with 
an ugly laugh, as now for the first time com- 
prehending. 

LEPER. Oh, ho ! So that 's the inside of it, is 
it ? When I go back, down yonder, and tell them 
this, they '11 not believe me. They '11 all say I 
dreamed it. . . . Here ! . . . How long have you 
been— mad ? Eh ? 

FRANCESCO. I am not mad. Brother. God, 
through thee, has given me eyes ! 

LEPER. Eyes ? Lord ! you should see mine : 
— what 's left of 'em ! 

94 



OUR LADY OF POVERTY 

FRANCESCO. They see the same world, Brother ; 
the same heaven. 

LEPEE. And the same hell ? 

FRANCESCO. The life which we have made and 
must all share. 
O Brother, if thou canst not pray for me. 
Remember without hatred one that seeks 
Thy pardon and thy pit}^ ! Till in God's time. 
We two do meet again. 

LEPER. In Death ?— ' We two ' ; eh ? 

[Shaking his head he moves to go. 
FRANCESCO. He being merciful, we shall meet, 
Brother. Remember me ! 

LEPER. Aye, truly, I am like to remember thee, 
when my time comes, to die ! If thou die first, my 
bell shall toll for thee : though it knows not the 
hour. Tell on ! . . . Tell on ! . . . Tell on ! 

[With a dull click of the tongue, he turns and goes. 

FRANCESCO stands and listens till the sound of 

his bell dies away. 

FRANCESCO. O most radiant, most gracious, 

most sweet Lady of Poverty, now at thy hand I 

have tasted the Body of Christ I 



CURTAIN 



95 



PART II 
THE FOLLOWING 



THE BUILDERS. 
BROTHER WOLF. 
SISTER CLARE. 



THE LEPERS. 
SISTER GOLD. 
BROTHER SUN. 



THE BUILDERS 




About the inner walls of a 
small ruined chapel stands 
scaffolding, across which rest 
the planks of a working plat- 
form. The floor is littered 
with wood, stones, mortar, 
and rubble. The sun shines 
through the wide open door 
and uncovered roof, and all 
the yellow -plastered walls 
gleam with the warm glow of ret 
fleeted light. From aloft comes 
the singing of the Builders ; tap of trowel and stroke of mallet 
keep time to the refrain in which two voices join as the scene opens. 

VOICES OF BUILDERS. O people, good people. 
What news is to tell ? 
Ring-a-ding-dong ! Ring-a-ding-dong ! 
The building goes well. 
\To the open door comes a figure of quaint ugliness, 
wheeling a rough hand-cart loaded with stone. 
Here is juniper. He enters, stands listening 
for a while to the singing overhead, then calls. 
JUNIPER. Hi ! Hi ! . . . Ah ! up in the sky, and 
can't hear me. I must just leave 'em. 

[In heavy, slow-witted fashion he begins to carry 
in the stones one by one. 
BUILDERS [singing in antiphon]. 

All girt with gold from crown to hem, 

I saw great Michael stand ; 
The city of Jerusalem 

He bore in his right hand. 
99 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER [laying down his first stone]. There 's one 
for you. 

BUILDERS. O people, good people. 
What news is to tell ? 
Ring-a-ding-dong ! Ring-a-ding-dong ! 
The building goes well. 
JUNIPER [returning with a second]. There 's 
another for you. 

BUILDERS. Behold these walls of stately girth. 
These towers which fall not down. 
Now find for me some place on earth. 
Where I may set my town. 
JUNIPER. And there 's another. Lord help me ! 
When shall I get done ? 

BUILDERS. O people, good people. 
What news is to tell ? 
Ring-a-ding-dong ! Ring-a-ding-dong ! 
The building goes well. 
[While one voice continues to sing aloft, francis 
comes down the ladder and sees juniper enter- 
ing with his fourth stone. 

juniper. There 's an 

[He stops and stares at francis. 
FRANCIS. Brother, where do these come from ? 
JUNIPER. It 's my own house I 'm pulling down, 
— ^to get rid of the rats. 

FRANCIS. You brought stone yesterday. 
JUNIPER. Ah, for Dom Silvestro that was. You 
said you could do with more, but hadn't the 
money. 

FRANCIS. I still have not the money. Brother. 
JUNIPER. No more have I. But I 've the stone. 
There 's another for you. 

100 



THE BUILDERS 

FRANCIS. You have a beautiful face. Brother. 
What is your name ? 

JUNIPER. I — ^beautiful ? Had God made all 
the world like me, you 'd run away from it. 
Name ? — Juniper. 

[So saying he goes to fetch another stone. 

FRANCIS. A good name : one of God's planting, 
for it bears fruit. 

JUNIPER. Juniper, the fool, I am. — There 's 
another for you. — That 's what everybody calls 
me, who knows. And there 's not a bigger fool 
in this world. 

FRANCIS. Thank God for that. Brother. A good 
fool is a great work of mercy. 

JUNIPER. For why, then ? 

FRANCIS. God hath saved him without making 
him wise. 

JUNIPER. Wise ? Oh ! had He made me wise, 
I should have died scratching my head over it. 
Here 's another for you. 

FRANCIS. Put them down outside. Brother. So 
much carrying tires you. 

JUNIPER. And who am I that 's not to be tired ? 
What else was I made for ? 

FRANCIS. To give joy in heaven. 

JUNIPER. The Lord help 'em if they are waiting 
to get it out of me ! 

FRANCIS. Why ? Are you not a stone-mason ? 

JUNIPER. No, Master ! I 'm doing this for play. 
A cobbler is my trade. 

FRANCIS. Well, — a cobbler, then. Who gives 
more joy than a cobbler ? [He begins filling a hod 
of mortar.] He is the means by which we go, making 
101 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

the way easy ; he saves us from stones and thorns, 
from the fangs of serpents, and from frost-bite. 
By his aid we make long journeys, seeing the world, 
and the wonder of it : Rome, and the Holy Land, 
and churches where priests say Mass : to cities 
also, and men's houses, making us become friends. 
Thus are we brought together in understanding 
and fellowship, which from the beginning was 
God's will concerning us. See, then, how good 
and joyful a thing it is to be a cobbler ! 
And he that gives joy on earth gives joy in 
heaven. 

JUNIPER [understanding according to the light that 
is in him]. Will it give you joy. Master, if I make 
you a pair of shoes ? Oh, let me, for the love 
of God I 

FRANCIS. As you will, Brother ; for by the love 
of God I see you are to be one of us. 

JUNIPER [stupent]. I ! 

FRANCIS [shouldering the hod]. Farewell, Brother 
Juniper. Come again ! 

[He mounts the ladder, and up aloft the singing 
is heard once more : ' O people, good people, 
etc' 

JUNIPER. Ah ! there he goes up to heaven again, 
with the feet of an angel ! And I might have kissed 
'em had I been quicker. Oh ! was ever a thing 
born like him ? 

Enter brother Bernard from without. 

Was there, I say ? 

BERNARD. Who are you, Brother ? 
JUNIPER. Who am I ? I 'm a great work of 
102 



THE BUILDERS 

mercy, he says ; so I 'm not to tire myself. And 
I 'm to be one of you, he says. What does he want 
me for ? 

BERNARD. To make us merrier, Brother. Is he 
up yonder now ? 

JUNIPER. Aye ; that 's the way he went, — ^up 
into heaven. There you '11 find him. 

[He returns to his cart. Bernard stands look- 
ing at him. 
BERNARD. And here have found thee. For I see 
thy heart, Brother ; and it is beautiful. 

JUNIPER. What ? another of 'em. My heart, 
this time, eh ? Well, so long as it 's not my head 
ye 're after. For I 'm the greatest work of mercy 
ye ever saw in the way of fools. 

BERNARD. We are all fools here. Brother. And 
with thee to lead us, we shall do well. 

JUNIPER. Oh ? The Lord help you ! And what 
am I wasting time for, when I ought to be making 
those shoes for him ? 

[He goes back to his cart and begins putting off 
the stones outside. 
BERNARD. Shall I help. Brother ? 
JUNIPER. No, you wouldn't. You 'd be in the 
way. . . . [He stops and looks.] There 's people 
coming up the hill, look. 
BUILDERS [aloft]. 

Upon bare earth I laid my stone ; 

He set his Tower thereon. 
And from its top, with trumpets blown. 
Back into heaven hath gone. 
BERNARD [calling from the foot of the ladder]. Baa ! 
FRANCIS [from above]. Who is calling ? 
103 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BERNARD. One of thy sheep — ^named Bernard. 
The world is seeking for thee, Brother. 
FRANCIS [as he descends]. For me ? 
BERNARD. Yonder, well attended, comes a 
thing of strange shape. Hither hath she followed 
me. 

FRANCIS. She ? 

BERNARD. Aye ! A woman in fine raiment, and 
of a comely countenance : with wealth and rank — 
so they tell me — new come from Rome. 

FRANCIS. From Rome, to see me, Brother ? 
BERNARD. Or now returning thither ; and in her 
train many servants. A very rich lady, by the 
look of her. 

FRANCIS. And wishes to see me, you say ? How 
did she hear of me ? 

BERNARD. From thy father, in Assisi. Alas, 
Brother, I think she is coming to buy thee back 
to him. 

FRANCIS. God o' mercy ! Comes he also ? Hide 
me, Brother Bernard, hide me ! 

BERNARD. Nay, nay. He is not with her. 
FRANCIS. Oh ! were he to come — ^what should I 
do ? Whither flee ? 

[So great is his perturbation that even the mild 
voice of JUNIPER, speaking outside, fills him 
with apprehension. 
JUNIPER. Aye ; in there you '11 find him — if you 
look high enough. 

[The next moment giacomina enters. Matronly, 

abundant, with a face all summer^s day, 

exuberant in gesture and motion, she advances 

demonstratively to take possession of her quarry. 

104 



THE BUILDERS 

GiACOMiNA. Ah, there ! Heart aHve ! I see thee 
again. Well met, by God's mercy ! 

FRANCIS. Well met, indeed. Lady ; for though 
I do not know you, I read that your heart is kind. 
GIACOMINA. What ? — ^not know ? Dost not re- 
member me ? 

FRANCIS. Indeed no, Lady. 

GIACOMINA. Why, thou monster of ingratitude ! 
Did I not love thee on first sight four years ago ? 
Have I not gone on loving thee ? Oh ! not to be 
remembered after that ! 

[Hot and out of breath she spreads herself, making 
the most of it, 
FRANCIS. 'Tis all one, Lady ; for now, without 
remembrance, I also love you. 

GIACOMINA. Thou hast the face to say so ! Oh, 
let me sit and get breath ! 

[And so saying, regardless of dust, she sits down 

on a pile of stones, and fans with her veil. 

BERNARD, Considering himself not wanted, 

retires up the ladder. 

FRANCIS. The honesty : for, on so quick a 

meeting, there 's some that would not. 

GIACOMINA. A soft-tongued rogue as ever ! And 
thy four -years-gone looks have not altered, but for 
the better. 

FRANCIS. My four-years -gone self would not have 
thought so. 

GIACOMINA. That bird ? That thing of feathers, 
— so plumed and combed, scarce could one see the 
man in him ? But, having discernment, I did so, and 
loved thee on faith ! Oh ! what a moulting is here ! 
And thou still but a fledgling. . . . What art doing ? 
105 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Cast out of one nest, I am now build- 
ing another. 

GiACOMiNA. Here, — in this ruin ? Oh, the breath 
I have lost, running after thee ! 

FRANCIS. Where from. Lady ? 

GIACOMINA. From Pietro Bernardone, thy father. 
Aye, thou mayst well hang thy head, if all he tells 
of thee be true. 

FRANCIS. Tells what. Lady ? 

GIACOMINA. This thing, this mouth, this monster, 
that for twenty years hath lain in his bosom, 
devouring first his affections, then his substance, 
and now his senses I For now, the more to dis- 
own thee, he defames the mother that bore thee, 
— in thy shame discovering hers. Then, if I say — 
why waste time on a thing not his ? Straightway 
he claims thee again. So there 's no end to it. 

FRANCIS. You bring any message from him. Lady? 

GIACOMINA. Message? No! Maledictions, of such 
weight my tongue could not carry them. And 
thy mother — ^poor soul — how she weeps ! — ^more 
tears than would keep me in grief for a twelvemonth. 
There is my kerchief, still wet from the encounter 
of her eyes, — a mother's love for thee ! 

[She throws him her handkerchief, francis 
takes and regards it tenderly. 

FRANCIS. Alas, fond wretch, thou hast wept well ! 

GIACOMINA. I told her she wept ill, and should be 
proud of thee ! 

FRANCIS. What said she to that ? 

GIACOMINA. Falls to fresh weeping, — duty to thy 
father forbidding her to do otherwise : so in sub- 
mission waters his curse with her tears, that out of 
106 



THE BUILDERS 

it may spring blessing. He sows, she waters, thou 
reapest ; for though grief be in it there is comfort 
Hkewise. 'Tis not charged to me as a message, but 
her heart is not broken, I tell thee ! — ^not by thee, 
at any rate. 

FRANCIS. Oh ! that is sweet hearing. God bless 
thee for telling me. 

GiACOMiNA. Why, child ! 'tis like a rainbow on 
storm : not to see it, I should be blind. Oh ! but 
thy father ! There 's wreckage, there 's ruin for 
thee : his pride, and thy promise all gone to 
perdition ! 

FRANCIS. What brought thee to him. Lady ? 

GIACOMINA. The good cloth I last had from 
him. So, coming to buy more — also to have new 
sight of thee, thou thing of forgetfulness ! — here, 
there, I go looking for thee, where thou art not. 
' Where is thy son, thy partner ? ' say I ; and he, 
' I have no son, no partner.' On that shuts mouth 
like a rat-trap, while thy mother opens hers and 
begins weeping. Oh, what a snap to these poor 
heart-strings was that ! ' Dead ! ' think I, drop a 
tear, and say a prayer for thee. Then out it all 
comes, as from the two I get thy story : she wailing, 
he railing ; she fond to thy folly, he by the folly 
of her fondness so enraged that he falls nigh to 
beating her ; and so measures thee to my mind, 
that here am I more hopelessly in love with thee 
than ever ! What more waits telling, he will say 
to thy face before the court, where presently he 
means to summon thee. 

FRANCIS {almost in tears\. Alas ! Oh, whither 
shall I go now ? 

107 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

GiACOMiNA. Why, heavens, child ! What has 
come to thee ? 

FRANCIS. Oh that the earth would open and 
swallow me ! 

GIACOMINA. What voice of a mouse is this ? Art 
thou not a man ? 

FRANCIS. Aye. 

GIACOMINA. ' Aye ' ! Then what dost thou fear ? 

FRANCIS. My father ! 

GIACOMINA. Thy father ? What is thy father ? 
— one thou couldst break like a stick across thy 
knee. 

FRANCIS. Yea : I know it. 

GIACOMINA. Then why dost thou tremble ? 

FRANCIS. Because he loves me, and is angry 
with me. 

GIACOMINA. He will get over it. 

FRANCIS. And I — I do not love him ! Oh, is not 
that horrible ? 

GIACOMINA. Pooh ! Dost hate, dost wish him 
ill? 

FRANCIS. Ah, no ! 

GIACOMINA. Or anything but what is good ? 

FRANCIS. Indeed no ! 

GIACOMINA. And for his grief is not thy heart 
tender ? 

FRANCIS. I hope so. Lady. 

GIACOMINA. Why, then, he hath as much of thy 
love as he deserves. I have seen him, so know. 

FRANCIS. Twenty years he was kind and patient 
to me. 

GIACOMINA. And wast thou unkind ? 

FRANCIS. All he gave I took, — ^and now have 
108 



THE BUILDERS 

wasted. All he hoped, expected, desired of me has 
come to naught. And it is my doing. 

GiACOMiNA. What did he think to make of 
thee ? A goose to lay golden eggs ? The better he 
should be disappointed. The Lord increase and 
continue it to him ! Come, come, child ! come ! 

FRANCIS. While I pleased him, loss of love did 
not matter. But now it comes like a curse ! 

GIACOMINA. Pah ! Couldst thou, to please him, 
be other than thy nature ? 

FRANCIS. He was so to me. He loved saving, 
yet to me was bountiful : spared not to labour, 
but let me be idle : bound himself to business, set 
me free from it. 

GIACOMINA. And did all this for love of thee ? 

FRANCIS [after a pause]. For my success in life, 
Lady. 

GIACOMINA. Life ? In what kind ? 

FRANCIS. That which I lived. Last year, at the 
call of comrades, I took service in the Pope's war. 

GIACOMINA. To fight, eh ? 

FRANCIS. And to be their leader. He filled my 
purse, gave me horses, servants, arms fit for a 
prince. And there, at the city gate, he stood to 
watch me go. And as I passed, his eyes filled with 
tears, and he said to my mother : ' Look ; we have 
a son who is a gentleman ! ' 

GIACOMINA. By his cloth-yard, now have I 
measured him ! Well, what else ? 

FRANCIS. Alas ! two days after, I found I could 
not fight. So I returned. 

GIACOMINA. Why ? Wast thou afraid ? When 
thy foe met thee, didst thou turn tail and run ? 
109 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. We did not meet, Lady. On the first 
day, as we marched, I stopped by an altar to pray ; 
and there before our Lord upon the Cross I found 
that fighting meant nothing, and the Cross every- 
thing. Then gave I horse and arms and servants 
to others that would take them ; and I went back — 
having done nothing. . . . That is all, Lady. 

GiACOMiNA. And thy father was not pleased with 
thee? 

FRANCIS. He said that I was a thief not to have 
brought back the full price of what he had given 
me. But how could I sell that which I knew to 
be useless ? So to make money would not have 
been honest. 

GIACOMINA. Thou lamb ! Thou dumb thing ! 
Thou sheep before shearers ! Well, well, what else ? 

FRANCIS. Nothing else. Lady. But truly I have 
done him great wrong, and he hath right to be 
angry. And being in his debt, now I fear him. 

GIACOMINA. And so hast run away from him ? 

FRANCIS. Yes. For every time he set eyes on me 
he was angry. 

GIACOMINA. But if he had the right, why take it 
from him ? The poor man starves to have his 
teeth in thee ; that is all. 

FRANCIS. All ! 

GIACOMINA. Listen, child, and learn wisdom ! 
Give him his vengeance till he be full of it : feed 
him till he be sick ! When he pursues after thee, 
do not thou run away. Offer thyself up ; say, 
' Take, eat, be satisfied ! ' If he wishes to beat 
thee, let him ! If he would strip the clothes off thy 
back, let him ! If he would turn thee out naked 
110 



THE BUILDERS 

into the world, let him ! Give him his glut of the 
meat his soul loveth, and he shall be out of heart in 
a fortnight. And so having surfeited him, thou 
wilt have paid thy debt. 
FRANCIS. And so be free ? 

GiACOMiNA. Aye, no longer fearing him. There- 
fore be ready ; for I think he means to come after 
thee. 

[This gives francis a fresh shock ; hut he hears 
it hetter, suppresses the cry which rises to his 
lips, and stands his ground. Having done him 
this good turn, giacomina abruptly changes 
the conversation. 
GIACOMINA. So this is thy roost now ? How long 
hast thou been here hiding thyself ? 
FRANCIS. About a fortnight, Lady. 
GIACOMINA. What doing ? 
FRANCIS. Building. 
GIACOMINA. By what means ? 
FRANCIS. Stone, Lady, and wood, and mortar. 
And we be three men, with six hands, and three 
heads, and one mind. And Brother Wall is kind 
to us ; we sing to him, and he grows. 
GIACOMINA. Where get you the stone ? 
FRANCIS. We buy it, when it is not given us. 
Yesterday we had money, and bought some. 
Yonder friend brought it to us : to-day he brings 
more as a gift. And when we need more, doubtless 
more will come. 

[Since the coming of giacomina, juniper's 

unloading of his cart has heen slow work. 

With dazed senses, at the lifting of every stone 

he stands and gazes at the apparition, and 

111 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

having laid it down stops to gaze again. Now 
that she turns to look at him he is covered with 
confusion, retires, and shifts his cart so that 
he may continue his work unobserved. There- 
after you see the unloading, but not him, till 
presently he comes to make his departure. 
GiACOMiNA. What art thou building here for ? 
FRANCIS. This is the Church of St. Damian, Lady ; 
it had fallen into ruin ; no one cared for it, no one 
prayed in it : 'twas our Lord's house, but empty. 
We are building so that He may come again and 
live in it. Presently it will have a roof ; then an 
altar, and a bell, and a priest who will say Mass. 
Then He will come. Will not that be wonderful ? 
GIACOMINA. Aye ! wonderful, indeed ; most won- 
derful ! 

FRANCIS [with the mazed look of a visionary]. Till 
by the showing of love He taketh our wonder 
from us. 

GIACOMINA. That is a strange saying, little 
Brother, — but true. . . . Didst thou begin this of 
thyself ? 

FRANCIS. Aye ; and now there be three of us ; 
and to-morrow we shall be four. 

GIACOMINA. Who finds you the money ? 
FRANCIS. Our Lord brings it. 
GIACOMINA. By what hand ? 
FRANCIS. All hands are his. Lady. 
GIACOMINA. Then, in God's name, from mine 
take this ! [She gives him a purse.] Wait, wait I 
. . . and this ; and these ! 

[She takes off gold chain and jewels, and offers 
them. To free his hands francis lays down 
112 



THE BUILDERS 

the purse, which is a pouch drawn through a 
ring. As he does so, the ring slips, and the 
pouch lies open on the stone disclosing its 
contents. The chain and jewels he puts into 
his wallet. It is at this moment that juniper, 
departing with his hand- cart, stands to take 
a farewell look at the two objects of his adora- 
tion. Like a child in fairyland, he gazes 
open-mouthed at the poured- out treasure ; then 
goes. 
GiACOMiNA. There ! now am I lightened of my 
load, and have done with it ! . . . God o' mercy ! 
What art thou staring for ? 

FRANCIS. This is more than we need, Lady. 
GIACOMINA. Not more than the world needs. 
Brother. Here is but a beginning. 

FRANCIS [uplifted at hearing his dream spoken]. 
Oh ! Thou hast come to tell me that ! 

GIACOMINA. Has not thine own heart told thee ? 
Have not others ? Whence came these ? 

[She indicates the Builders, whose voices are 
again heard up aloft. 
FRANCIS. I opened my hands ; and He filled 
them. I did not ask them to come. 
GIACOMINA. But they came. 
FRANCIS. And then — ^you came. 
GIACOMINA. All the world will come. Brother, 
when they know thee. 

FRANCIS. When they know each other. ... So 
the building will go on ! 

GIACOMINA. And the bells will ring ! 

[Happy in their dream, they stand looking at 
each other. To the door without comes dom 

H 113 



LITTLE PLAYS OP ST. FRANCIS 

siLVESTRO, and halts to look in. Up above, 
as they ply their tools, the Builders sing in 
chorus. 
BUILDERS. O people, good people. 
What news is to tell ? 
Ring-a-ding-dong ! Ring-a-ding-dong ! 
The building goes well. 
FRANCIS. Thy name. Lady ? 
GiACOMiNA. Giacomina da Settisoli. 
FRANCIS. Sister Giacomina. 

GIACOMINA. With all my heart. Brother ! That 
also goes to thy building. 

FRANCIS. When we meet again, we shall remem- 
ber each other. 

GIACOMINA. ' We ' ! The forgetting was never 
mine ! 

[dom silvestro enters, and sees the gold lying. 

With a divided attention he advances toward 

them. 

FRANCIS. I only forgot thy face, not thy heart ; 

for then I had not found it. . . . Come again. Sister. 

[They embrace in frank affection. 

GIACOMINA. Doubt not, Brother ; I will come ! 

Oh, is not the world beautiful ? 

FRANCIS [full of a like discovery]. Aye ! 
SILVESTRO. Master Builder, I would have a 
word with you. 

FRANCIS. Very willingly. Father. Lady, this is 
Dom Silvestro, priest of San Giorgio. 
GIACOMINA. Your blcssiug, Father. 

[dom SILVESTRO, making the cross, mumbles a 
perfunctory blessing in Latin. 
FRANCIS. He hath been a good help to us. 
114 



THE BUILDERS 

Yesterday we bought stone from him ; and because 
we make good use of it, he asked Kttle. 

siLVESTRO. Aye ; that was yesterday. Yester- 
day you said you were poor. 

FRANCIS. We are poor still, Father. 

SILVESTRO. Oh, ho ! Then what is this gold 
I see? 

FRANCIS. That is for the building. 

SILVESTRO. To buy stone, eh ? 

FRANCIS. If you have more for us. 

SILVESTRO. I have no more. 

FRANCIS. Then we must buy of others. 

SILVESTRO. And give them a better price than 
you gave me ? 

FRANCIS. We must give them what they ask. 
Father. 

SILVESTRO. So — if they ask more, they will get 
more ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, Father. 

SILVESTRO. Then must thou give me more for 
mine. 

FRANCIS [puzzled]. For what I have already 
bought of thee ? 

SILVESTRO. Surely ! Seeing that I came first, is 
not that fair ? 

FRANCIS. If it seems fair to thee. Father. Hold 
out thy hand, and let me fill it for thee. 

[To the door comes an old beggar, leaning on a 
staff. 

BEGGAR. Charity ! Kind Charity ! 

[FRANCIS takes up the gold and pours it into dom 
siLVESTRo's hand. Several pieces fall to the 
ground. 

115 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. If I have not given thee enough, come 
again. 

siLVESTRO. Enough I Nay, here is too much. 
Thou hast given me all. 

FRANCIS. Put back what you do not want, 
Father. 

[dom SILVESTRO stttfids holding the gold, not 
knowing what to do. Meanwhile the beggar 
has entered, and now approaches francis. 
BEGGAR. Kind Charity ! 

FRANCIS. Come in, little Father ! Here is one 
of our friends. Sister. When we give him bread, 
he gives us his blessing ; and we have done well 
by it. But to-day we have no bread for thee. 
BEGGAR [crestfallen]. Eh ? No bread ? 
FRANCIS. None has come ; so we are as hungry 
as thou art. 

BEGGAR [accepting the situation]. Eh ! the Lord 
bless it to you ! 

FRANCIS. See, Sister, how good he is to us. 
Though we give him no bread, yet he blesses us. 
[Meanwhile dom silvestro has made up his 
mind about the money. Shame has come to 
him ; unwilling to keep all, or to he seen pick- 
ing out a portion, he lays it all down, and is 
retiring unobserved, when francis stoops and 
begins gathering the fallen pieces. 
But look ! though we have not bread, here is that 
which shall buy it for thee. Take what you need, 
little Father. 

[This offering of gold to a beggar gives a start to 
DOM silvestro. Halting, astonished, upon 
the threshold, he waits to watch results. The 
116 



THE BUILDERS 

BEGGAR, looking at the handful offered him, 
is more nonplussed than dom silvestro. 
BEGGAR. But all this is gold. Master ! 
FRANCIS. I have nothing better, Brother. 
BEGGAR [bewildered]. Eh ! what '11 I do with it ? 
I can't buy bread with gold, can I ? With gold you 
do buy land and houses, and jewels and fine raiment; 
but what use to me would they be ? I 've never 
touched a piece of gold all my life. Master ! I be 
afeard of it ! For if I have gold, I lose Charity. 
No, no ! Keep thy gold, I say, and give me 
Charity. 

FRANCIS. Little Father, if all men loved Charity 
as thou dost, the world would be rich ! 

[He goes to put down the gold, and then finds that 

all the rest has been returned to him. dom 

siLVESTRO comes forward and kneels. 

siLVESTRO [to the beggar]. Old man, give a 

sinner thy blessing ! This for thy need [he presses 

a coin into the beggar's hand] ; and this for thy 

charity ! 

[Kissing the old man's hand, he turns and goes 
swiftly out. 
GiACOMiNA. Making four. Brother ! 
FRANCIS [with his mind on juniper]. Making five. 
[Meanwhile the old beggar, slowly recovering 
from the shock of having his hand kissed, 
becomes articulate again. 
BEGGAR. Eh ? What for did he do that, now ? 
[Then looking at the smaller coin which dom silvestro 
has given him] Oh, but this is more like ! With 
this I can buy enough for all of us. Shall I, Master ? 
FRANCIS. If thou canst spare of it. But ere thou 
117 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

go, friend, give me a father's blessing ! For my 
other father hath put a curse on me. 

BEGGAR. Thy other ? Oh, there, there ! The 

Lord bless thee, my son ! and keep thee, and com- 
fort thee, and be kind to thee, as thou 

BERNARD and LEO [from above]. Baa ! Baa ! 
Brother Francis ! Brother Francis I Here, afar 
off, comes Messer Bernardone, thy father. 

FRANCIS. My father ! 

GiACOMiNA [lifting a warning finger]. Now ! . . . 
Be a man, Brother ! Stand . . . Do not run ! 

FRANCIS. Oh ! [And once more fear and trembling 
take hold of him.] 

GIACOMINA. What is thy fear ? 

FRANCIS. He is coming to curse me I 

GIACOMINA. Let him ! 

FRANCIS. To curse me I Oh ! . . . [Suddenly he 
catches the old beggar by the sleeve] Little Father ! 

BEGGAR. Aye. 

FRANCIS. Stand close to me ! Hold me ! Be by 
me ! Put thy hand on me ! . . . Aye, so. And 
when I say ' Father ! ' say ' Here am I, my son.' 
Then if he curse me, say ' I bless thee.' If he say — 
aye, whatever he saith, do thou unsay it for me. 

BEGGAR. Unsay ? How unsay. Master ? 

FRANCIS. Wait : let him speak. Then, if it be 
evil, say thou the contrary, and make it good. Do 
this for me that I may live ! 

[At this moment pietro bernardone, a small, 
wizened old man, prances in. Shaking his 
stick, he rushes upon francis. 

pietro. Ah ! now have I found thee at last ! 
Now have I tracked thee ! 
118 



THE BUILDERS 

BEGGAR. Now have I lost thee, again. 

piETRO. Thou form of folly ! Thou shape of 
mischief ! 

BEGGAR. Thou SOU of miy soul ! 

PIETRO. Thou fraud, thou trickster, thou thief ! 

BEGGAR. Thou heart of honesty ! Thou child of 
innocence ! 

FRANCIS. Father. 

PIETRO. Out ! Call me not father ! 

BEGGAR. Call me father ! 

PIETRO. Thou art my son no longer. 

BEGGAR. My son, if ever I had one. 

PIETRO. What mocking and mouthing is here t 
Who art thou ? 

BEGGAR. This — ^this is my son. Master. 

PIETRO. Thy son ? I would to the devil he 
were! 

BEGGAR. I would to God he were not I Nay, 
nay ! Oh, what am I to say now ? 

PIETRO. Say, nothing ! Hold thy peace. 'Tis I 
that am to speak now — to thee, aye, to thee ! If 
thou prosper after this, there is no God in heaven. 

FRANCIS. Kind Father, why art thou still angry 
with me ? 

PIETRO [inarticulate with rage]. Ah ! 

BEGGAR. I am not angry. 

FRANCIS. If, after punishmg, thou hast not 
forgiven me, — why didst thou punish me ? 

PIETRO. My punishments of thee have but 
begun ! 

BEGGAR. My punishments of thee are all over. 

PIETRO [striking at the beggar with his stick]. Out, 
fool! 

119 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BEGGAR [poking PiETRO with his staff]. In, Solo- 
mon ! In ! . . . Strike me not, Master ! for I am 
hasty of temper. 

[The noise of the altercation has brought 
LEO and BERNARD from their work, and 
for some while they have stood half-way 
down the ladder looking on, hewilderingly 
divided between the laughter of giaco- 
MiNA and the sorrowful ejaculations of 

FRANCIS. 

GiACOMiNA. Have a care, Messer Pietro ! His 
staff is longer than thine. 

FRANCIS. If the sight of me causes thee anger, 
why didst thou come ? 

PIETRO. To claim that which is mine. 

BEGGAR. To claim that which is not mine. 

PIETRO. Where are my goods, my money, my 
horses that you took ? 

BEGGAR. I ask not where. 

FRANCIS. I know not. Father. But some one is 
still using them. 

PIETRO. As I will use thee ! [Strikes him. 

BEGGAR [interposing]. Nay, nay, Master ; my 
son is not to be struck ! He is a good son to 
me. 

GIACOMINA. Messer Pietro, thy son is richer this 
day in the wrath and malice thou hast against him, 
than ever he was in thy love. 

FRANCIS. Ah ! no, no ! Thy blessing. Father ! 

PIETRO. The devil's blessing ! Plague take thee I 
Ruin fall on thee ! Perdition seize thee ! 

FRANCIS [kneeling before the beggar]. Little 
Father, quick ! Thy blessing ! 
120 



THE BUILDERS 

BEGGAR. The Lord bless thee, my son. The 

Lord 

[With a cry of rage, pietro raises his stick and 
rushes at the beggar, who bolts pursued by 
PIETRO. GiACOMiNA ruus after them to the 
door. LEO and Bernard join her, while 
FRANCIS, half-dazed, rises slowly from his 
knees. 
GIACOMINA. There is a riddance for thee ! Run, 
Beggar. Run, Bernardone ! Run ! Run ! . . . 
Nay, but quicker ! He is after thee, he is on thee, 
he will catch thee ! 
LEO. Alas ! he falls ! 
BERNARD. Bcrnardonc is beating him ! 
GIACOMINA [clapping her hands]. Ah ! see there ! 
See there ! Well done. Beggar ! Well done ! 
Bravo ! Bravo ! 

[leo and Bernard run out in haste to the rescue. 
Now God reward thee, that once on earth I have 
seen justice done ! Ah, well ! Mercy and truth 
have met, and now it is over. Bravo, Beggar ! 
. . . Oh ! what heart of wickedness have I in me ? 
[Turning she meets francis, and bars his way 
to the door. 
Nay, nay ! Not there art thou needed but here. 
O good little Brother, pray for me ! I am a great 
sinner. I have seen that would make me merry, 
were it the day of my death ! 
FRANCIS. Seen what. Lady ? 
GIACOMINA [hopeless to convey to francis her 
own appreciation of the event]. I cannot tell thee. 
Thou 'It hear of it when I am gone. . . . Farewell, 
little Builder, farewell ! We shall meet again. 
121 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Aye, surely ! Farewell, Lady ; — Sister 
Giacomina. Must thou go ? 

GiACOMiNA [from the doorway]. Be of good cheer, 
Brother ! All the world is a-building ! . . . And 
here comes another stone for thee. God bless and 
keep thee ! . . . Farewell ! 

[Throwing him a hiss, she goes, 

FRANCIS [uplifted with sweet thoughts]. Farewell, 

Sister ! ' All the world !'...' All the world ! ' . . . 

[While he stands mazed, hack come brother 

LEO and BROTHER BERNARD, forerunners of 

something which they have a difficulty in 

explaining. 

BERNARD. Brother Francis ! 

FRANCIS. All the world 

LEO. Brother Francis ! 

FRANCIS. Is a-building ! [Then coming to himself] 
Yes, Brother ? 

[To the door comes juniper wheeling his hand- 
cart : in it lies pietro Bernard one, a 
crumpled wreck, with bandaged head, whining, 
and very sorry for himself. 
JUNIPER. I have brought thy father. Master. 
FRANCIS. Alas ! How comes this ? 
JUNIPER. The beggar has been beating him, 
Master. 

FRANCIS. Oh ! unhappy wretch ! I have two 
fathers that beat each other ! 

JUNIPER. He 's not much hurt. Master : only 
frightened. Here ; out with you ! 

[So saying he tilts his cart, and projects pietro 
through the doorway. Full of aches and noisy 
complainings, he staggers forward and sits 
122 



THE BUILDERS 

down on the pile of stone where giacomina's 
gold is lying. 
PiETRO. Oh ! you hired that ruffian to beat me, 
did you ? Hired him ! I '11 have the law on all 
of you ! 

FRANCIS. But, Father, why didst thou beat 
him ? Here was I : why didst thou not beat 
me? 

PIETRO. Beat thee, eh ? I '11 beat thee yet ; and 
more than ever thou didst bargain for ! 

[Suddenly his eye lights with avidity on the 
gold. 
Where does this money come from ? 
FRANCIS. It was given me. 

PIETRO. Given thee ? . . . Oh . . . Given thee. 
... So that thou might pay thy debt, eh ? . . . 
And for that beating I have had from thee ? 
. . . Eh ? . . . Stand away ! Do not touch me ! . . . 
Given thee. ... So. 

[Slowly and methodically he pockets the gold, 
while the three Brothers look on without 
protest. 
JUNIPER. O Lord up in heaven ! Look at that 
now ! 

[piETRO, having filled his pouch, gets up to go. 
FRANCIS. Farewell, Father : thou hast done well. 
Now I owe thee nothing — except love. 

[piETRO says nothing. Turning a look of hatred 
and malignant triumph on his son, he goes his 
way. After a pause, francis, gathering his 
tools, prepares to resume work. Suddenly he 
starts singing; and the two Brothers, leo 
and BERNARD, join in. 
123 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS, LEO, and BERNARD. 

Upon bare earth I laid my stone ; 

He set his Tower thereon, 
And from its top, with trumpets blown, 
Back into heaven hath gone. 

[They go up the ladder 
O people, good people. 
What news is to tell ? 
Ring-a-ding-dong ! Ring-a-ding-dong 1 
The building goes well ! 
JUNIPER. Who ever saw the like of that 1 



CURTAIN 



124 



BROTHER WOLF 




Scene: A rocky defile, 
gloomy and precipitous. High 
up in the crevices of the rock 
grow juniper bushes and pines. 
Over the ground, which is the 
pebbly bed of a dried torrent, 
large boulders lie strewn. To 
the right is a deep fissure, or 
cave, from which trickles a 
small stream of water. Be- 
hind the bushes above, one 
sees the back of a sheep and 
a horned head which turns to look, as Giuseppe^ hot and out of 
breath, comes stumbling up the gully from below. He halts, looks 
right and left, then puts his hands to his mouth and makes the 
wolf's cry. 

GIUSEPPE. Wow ! Wow ! . . . Wow ! Wow ! 

BARTOL [from above]. B-a-a ! 

GIUSEPPE. Hullo, Bartol, where are the rest ? 

BARTOL. Anywhere, for all I know. Here am I. 

GIUSEPPE. I 've news for them. 

[He sits down, pulls a melon from his pouch and 
starts slicing it. 

BARTOL [still wearing his sheep-skin, straddles the 
rock]. Eh ? Where does that come from ? 

GIUSEPPE. Down yonder : Assisi market. Here ! 
Catch ! [He throws him a half-melon, which bartol 
begins eating.] 

BARTOL. News, eh ? Well, what is it ? 

GIUSEPPE. One telling 's enough. Call Lupo : bid 
him be quick. 

125 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BARTOL [first howls, then barks]. Ow-w-w ! . . • 
Wow ! Wow ! 

VOICE [in the distance]. Ow-w-w ! . . . Wow ! Wow ! 

[GIUSEPPE begins to unload his pouch : his 

pilferings are mainly articles of leather or 

steel ; mixed with these arc a few gewgaws, 

satisfying to male vanity. 

GIUSEPPE. O Lord ! what fools there are in the 
world ! I could have taken double had I wanted. 

BARTOL. Easy enough in a thick crowd. See them 
now, down yonder, swarming through the gate like 
ants ! \He points forward.] 

GIUSEPPE. Aye ? Market 's over now. They 'd 
got a preaching friar among them. When he began, 
they 'd no eyes for anything. . . . Suited me well 
enough ! 

BARTOL. What ? That Poverello, as they call 
him? 

GIUSEPPE. I daresay. Hungry-looking, — all eyes 
and a mouth. Ugh ! Moon-mad : you should 
have heard him ! 

VOICE [now nearer]. Wow ! 

BARTOL. B-a-a ! Cecco ? Tell Messer Lupo it 's 
Giuseppe back again. 

Enter cecco and bastiano. 

BASTiANO. Any luck ? . . . Oh ! 

GIUSEPPE . Where 's the Wolf ? Quick ; I want him ! 

Enter lupo, a fine figure of a man, with a touch of 
the savage dandy about him. He wears chained 
coins and ear-rings. He stands and looks out 
over Assisi. 
CECCO. Lo, behind you. Brother. 
126 



BROTHER WOLF 

LUPO. Ha ! you lice ! Look at them ! Curse, 
curse on you ! 

GIUSEPPE. Now, Messer Lupo, show yourself a 
wise wolf, and run ! There 's a holy man after 
you. 

LUPO. Heh ? What 's he ? 

GIUSEPPE. Mad ! That 's all I know. 

BARTOL. It 's the Poverello, Padrone. 

[Spreading them on a slab of rock, the Robbers 
settle down to divide Giuseppe's pickings 
among them. 

LUPO. Does his madness bring him here ? 

GIUSEPPE. Aye ! He is coming to catch you, 
Messer Lupo. That hath he sworn, with the whole 
city to witness. And as he so spake, Porco di Dio, 
you should have heard them ! 

LUPO. Go on, go on, Giuseppe ! Make shorter 
tongue, and have done with it ! 

GIUSEPPE. 'Tis thus, Messer Lupo. He is coming 
with holy water ; and terror will be on you ! First 
he strikes you blind, then deaf, then dumb, then 
silly. Then when he hath hold of you by all your 
senses, he '11 pick you to pieces, put you in a bag, 
salt you down, carry you back to Assisi, ring the 
bells — (He told them that : ' To-night, ring the 
bells ! ' he said) — Then they '11 call a feast . . . then 
they '11 eat you. 

LUPO. You dirty thief, you have been drinking ! 

GIUSEPPE. Dirty thief am I ? Yes, I have been 
drinking — ^with my ears too : else you wouldn't 
be hearing of it. It 's the talk of the taverns I 'm 
telling you, and it 's the truth. So now, old Wow- 
wow, you know what your end 's going to be 1 
127 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

LUPO [threateningly]. Get ! Stand up ! Hands 
away ! 

[GIUSEPPE puts up his hands ; fright sobers him. 
Now then ! Clean your tongue ! Out with it ! 

GIUSEPPE [stammering]. 'Tis as I said, Messer 
Lupo ; and as I heard it. Afterwards the Poverello 
himself was there speaking in the market. And he 
said [He pauses. 

LUPO. Aye, said : said what ? 

GIUSEPPE. I — I don't know, Messer Lupo ! 'Tis 
all gone from me. He talked such moon-madness, 
'twas more than a sane man could understand. 
'Twas all ' Brother Wolf,' and ' Brother Wolf,' and 
' If you try to eat him,' he says, ' he tries to eat you. 
But we '11 have him,' he says, ' so that he can harm 
nobody.' And there was the crowd all laughing 
and crying round him, like a pack of fools. So he 
said if he brought you back to Assisi, safe and 
bound, would they give you to him to do with as 
he wished. And they all said ' Aye ! ' And he 
said, ' Let me have his life, and you shall have 
peace ! ' So they agreed. And — [he stops] — that 
was all, Messer Lupo. For I 'd got my sack full 
by then, and 'twas better I came away. 

LUPO. Aye, so ? ' Safe and bound ' ; have my 
life, will they ? 

CECCO. You 've had a many of theirs, Messer 
Lupo ! 

LUPO. And will have more ! Ah, you blind bats ! 

[Shaking his fist towards Assisi] Wait, wait, till 

my whelps be grown ! . . . Up, Bartol, to your post ! 

[bartol resumes his sheep-skin and returns to 

his perch. 

128 



BROTHER WOLF 

GIUSEPPE. They have a great fear of you, Messer 
Lupo. 

LUPO. They do well. 

GIUSEPPE. None will go forth of the city now, 
but armed and in company. 

LUPO. It shall not save them. 

CECCO. No, nor their flocks, either. 

GIUSEPPE. Ah! And you should hear the farmers 
talk of all the sheep and goats we have taken. For 
every one that is true they tell of ten. So now, 
with so many missing, they say, there be fifty of us ! 

LUPO. And we will be fifty yet ! Ah, you dogs, 
you dogs ! When I have gathered my pack I will 
make you yelp ! 

OTHERS. Where are the rest, Messer Lupo ? 
Where are the rest of us ? 

LUPO. They come, they come. Brothers. Patience! 
You are but the first. 

ALL. Wow ! Wow ! 

LUPO. Then, then we will taste blood ! 

ALL. Wow ! Wow ! 

LUPO. And go forth with sword and fire ! 

ALL. Wow ! Wow ! 

LUPO. And lo, Assisi, red-eyed and roofless, 
glaring into the dark ! 

ALL. Assisi, Assisi ! Down with Assisi ! Wow ! 
Wow! 

LUPO. Aye, hearken to me, now ! You beat me, 
you stoned me, you cast me out ! So, like a beast 
you hunted me ! I sought justice ; it was denied. 
You mocked me : you would not hear. 

ALL. Ow-w-w ! Wow ! Wow ! 

[lupo draws Ms dagger for 'pantomime. 
I 129 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

LUPO. Over his head by night, I burned the roof 
of my betrayer ; and with sharp teeth I bit my 
way through the midst of them. ' Wolf ! Wolf ! ' 
They were up, they were after me ! 
ALL. Wow ! Wow ! Wow ! Wow ! 
LUPO. They shut the gates, but I was over the 
wall. ' Wolf ! Wolf ! ' they cried, but too late. 
I was out, I was free. 
ALL. Wow ! Wow ! 

LUPO. Then you came. Brothers : for you, also, 
they had wronged. And together we have taught 
them fear ! Cry, cry ! Let them hear the voice 
of the Wolf ! 

ALL. Wow ! Wow ! 
LUPO. Dogs ! 
BARTOL. Baa-a ! 

[At this cry of warning from above, lupo goes 
to look. 
LUPO. Back ! Take cover, all of you. 

[The Robbers disappear, lupo and cecco 
enter the cave ; giuseppe creeps under a pine- 
root, BASTiANO behind a large boulder ; 
bartol keeps cover under his sheep- skin. 
Enter Francis, followed by juniper, carrying 
a sack. 
JUNIPER. Not so fast. Father Francis I Oh, for 
the love of God, not so fast ! 

FRANCIS. Are you weary. Brother ? 
JUNIPER. Truly no. Father ; not weary. But 
this is an ill place we be come to. 
FRANCIS. Wherefor ? 
JUNIPER. Eh ! dark, I mean. 
FRANCIS. Farther on it will be darker, 
130 



BROTHER WOI.F 

JUNIPER. Aye, and rough stones, Father, to 
stumble over ; and holes to fall into ; and torrents 
to get drowned in ; and caves — [He turns and sees 
FRANCIS approaching the entrance of the cave] — Oh, 
for the love of God, don't go there. Father ! 
There 's somebody in it I 

FRANCIS. Sister Water is there. Brother. If she 
fears not, why should we ? 

JUNIPER. Eh, but she is coming out as fast as 
she can run. 

FRANCIS. She is kind. Brother : and because we 
are thirsty she runs to meet us. [He stoops to drink. 

JUNIPER [holding back]. I shouldn't wonder, 
Father, but there 's blood in it. [A stone followed 
by rubble falls from above.] O Lord, vfhat 's that ? 

FRANCIS. Come, drink. Brother. This water is 
cool and clear, and will refresh you. Further on, 
we may find none. 

JUNIPER. Are we to go further. Father ? Why 
are we to go further ? 

FRANCIS. To find Brother Wolf. 

JUNIPER. The Lord preserve us from him ! 
What 's in this bag, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Food, Juniper, and wine, and raiment. 

[He sets it upon a rock in the foreground, lupo, 

followed by cecco, comes and stands in the 

entrance of the cave. The other Robbers raise 

their heads cautiously to listen. 

JUNIPER. What will the big robber want with 
that. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Fox his body — it is all that he can want. 

JUNIPER. I think not. Father. What he wants 
is blood, and terror, foul lust, and cruelty. He 
131 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

puts men in bonds. Father ; he draws out their 
insides ; he pulls out their teeth ; he cuts off their 
ears ; he tears out their hearts ! Oh ! 
FRANCIS. So will I do to him. Brother. 
JUNIPER. Thou, Father 1 

FRANCIS. Ere this day is over. Juniper, thou shalt 
see Brother Wolf in bonds. Yea, I will draw out 
his inside, and his teeth shall not harm me. I will 
have him by the nose and the ears ; and I will pull 
out his heart. 

\At this, from lupo and his robber-band, there 
is much grinding of teeth. They begin to 
close in on francis, who, taking the sack from 
JUNIPER, has begun to sort out its contents. 
They sit down on a rock to rest. 
JUNIPER. Well, Father, if it be God's will we 
shall be hanged for it ! 

FRANCIS. Thou shalt see a wolf changed into a 
lamb. Juniper. 
BARTOL. Baa -a ! 

JUNIPER. There 's a wise sheep. Father. He 
answers you ! 

[FRANCIS displays bread, meat, and wine, 

setting them on the rock before him. 

FRANCIS. Look you. Brother, is not this a fair 

feast? Shall it not rejoice his eyes when he beholds it ? 

[lupo's eyes do not respond to the invitation, 

JUNIPER. Why should it. Father ? For by the 

robbery of honest men he can get all that and more. 

FRANCIS. Brother Wolf is no fool. Juniper. 

Think you that it doth not grieve him to rob men ? 

For why should you seek to rob others, if you 

yourself be not in need ? 

132 



BROTHER WOLF 

JUNIPER. Truly, Father, I have no wish to rob 
others ! 

FRANCIS. And dost thou think there is any man 
in the world more foolish than thou art ? Brother 
Wolf hath eyes like you and me : doth he not 
prefer light to darkness ? He hath ears : doth he 
not prefer greetings to reproaches ? He hath a 
heart. Brother : shall he not prefer kindness to 
misery. If he had food enough of his own, would 
he filch it from thee ? 

JUNIPER. I know not. Father. 

FRANCIS. Why, no ! For if thou art a robber, 
men fear thee, and seek not thy company : there- 
fore, thou art lonely. Also, when they hunt thee, 
thou must run and hide : therefore, thou art home- 
less. And being homeless thou hast no family, 
nor friends to whom thou canst do service. And 
if thou have none of these, of what use to thee is the 
wealth thou takest from others ? 

JUNIPER. I have none of these. Father : but 
neither have I wealth. 

FRANCIS. Thou hast great wealth. Juniper : for 

thou hast charity. All that thou hast thou givest. 

Therefore give charity to Brother Wolf, and take 

pity on him, seeing that he is very sorry for himself. 

[At this point the grinding o/lupo's teeth becomes 

almost audible. His followers, too mentally 

dazed to follow the argument, take their cue 

from him, and do likewise. 

JUNIPER. Father, it 's no use pretending, is it, 
Father ? 

FRANCIS. No, Brother. 

JUNIPER. May I say truly as I have a mind ? 
133 



LITTLE PLAYS OP ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. I command you, my son. 

JUNIPER. Father, you have a holy madness in 
you, and there 's no curing you. I 've prayed, 
Father — often I Ve prayed the Lord to give you 
back your senses. But He hasn't done it. He 's only 
taken mine too. So here 's the pair of us, with not 
enough sense left to catch a flea — let alone a robber. 
And if I wasn't so mad. Father, I 'd think we were 
in danger now. For I 've a feeling that I 've only 
got to turn my head and I should see something. 

FRANCIS. Brother Juniper, I will tell thee a story. 

JUNIPER. Yes, Father ? 

FRANCIS. A young hawk fell from its nest, so 
hurt that it could not fly. When I took it to hand, 
it pecked and drew blood. But I did not kill it ; 
it was helpless, so I brought it home with me. And 
its beak was very sharp. 

JUNIPER. 'Twas a bright bird ! It knew how to 
get round you. Father. 

FRANCIS. Then I made it a nest, and brought 
food for it. It ate mice. Brother, and meat, and 
dead vermin ; and when it could get nothing else, 
it ate me. But though it liked the taste of me, it 
had no love for me. So when its wing was healed 
and it could fly, forthwith it departed. 

JUNIPER. A hawk is a vile bird. Father. 

FRANCIS. A hawk is a hawk, Brother. When 
God made hawks He was not making men. So, 
when He made wolves, it was not men either : and 
never shall a wolf become a man. How, then, can 
a man become a wolf ? 

JUNIPER. But the hawk did ill. Father : for thou 
hadst saved his life. 

134 



BROTHER WOLF 

FRANCIS. Even so hath God saved mme : yet do 
I sm against Him. Now when He, by love, showeth 
us how we be helpless, He showeth us also the help- 
lessness of others. And since I loved Brother 
Hawk, that tore my flesh from me, shall I not also 
love Brother Wolf ? 

[This is altogether beyond the comprehension of 
LUPO and his companiojis : hut at least they 
can put the matter to the test. To that end 
LUPO gives a signal ; and the Robbers, cord in 
hand, draw close to their intended victims, 
while FRANCIS continues to instruct brother 

JUNIPER. 

Aye, though he should put bonds on me, and draw 

out my teeth and my inside 

[juniper catches sight of the Robbers that are 
about to fall on francis. 
JUNIPER. O Father ! Father ! 
FRANCIS. — and cut off my ears and tongue, and 

tear out my 

[At a signal from lupo the Robbers fall on them 
and bind them, juniper struggles instinct- 
ively, but without desperation, francis ac- 
cepts the interruption as a step upon the road. 
FRANCIS. Is that you, Brother Wolf ? 
LUPO. Aye ! My teeth are in thee now. Friar. 
Safe and bound ! 

FRANCIS. Thou hast begun well, Brother. Tarry 
awhile. See now. Juniper, here hath Brother Wolf 
got his teeth in me — in thee also. And, by the look 
of him, he is going to tear us to pieces. Yet shall 
we still love him. And by nothing that he may do 
can he prevent it. 

135 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

LUPO [drawing his knife]. Not if I slay thee ? 
How then ? 

JUNIPER. O Father, say a prayer for me ! 

[But juniper's captors cuff him to silence. 

FRANCIS. Thou art very Hke a wolf. Brother. 
But a wolf stands not on his hind legs as thou dost. 

LUPO. Peace, thou fool ! 

FRANCIS. God give thee peace, also. Brother ! 

LUPO [to juniper]. Thou fellow, is this man mad ? 

JUNIPER. Aye, Brother ! He is more mad than 
I am. For I have it only by fits, but he always. 

FRANCIS. Thou hast a kind face. Brother. Tell 
me thy true name ? 

[This affront to his face makes lupo more 
murderously inclined than ever. 

JUNIPER [cheerfully encouraged by the example of 
FRANCIS]. Bite him ! Bite him. Brother Wolf ! 
He will like thee the better for it ! 

LUPO. Cease, babbler ! Or I cut out thy tongue. 

FRANCIS. Cut out mine first, Brother ; 'tis the 
longer. And the more thou hast of it, the better 
shall it pay thee ! 

LUPO. These be not sane men ! 

JUNIPER [with conviction]. We are not. Brother ! 

FRANCIS. Yet rather would I give thee my heart. 
There is not much meat on my bones ; but my heart 
thou shalt find tender. 

CECCO. Messer Lupo, these men make mock of 
thee. 

LUPO. So be ! Patience, and we will hear them. 
Sirrah, whence come you ? 

FRANCIS. From down yonder — from Assisi. 

LUPO. Wherefor ? 

136 



BROTHER WOLF 

FRANCIS. To find thee, Brother. 

LUPO. To what end ? 

FRANCIS. To succour thee, for thou art in misery. 

LUPO [restraining himself]. Go on. Friar. 

FRANCIS. Now for thy body (which is a small 
thing) here is food and raiment. 

GIUSEPPE. Have a care. Master ! He hath be- 
witched them. 

FRANCIS. For thy soul (which is a great thing), 
alas, Brother, thy soul, thy soul is in jeopardy ! 

LUPO. And thy life ! [He raises his knife. 

FRANCIS. Brother Wolf, thou art a foul liver. 
Thou hast done great wickedness. 

[lupo lowers his knife in astonishment. 
Shame on thee, Brother, shame on thee ! 

CECCO. Master, shall this man live ? 

LUPO. Peace, Cecco ! 

FRANCIS. Thou hast been cruel, and hast shed 
blood, thou hast robbed, thou hast burned, thou 
hast wasted ; and the riches which God gave thee, 
thou hast vilely cast away. 

LUPO. Which God gave me, Friar ? 

FRANCIS. Did He not give thee a heart. Brother ? 
• — eyes, also, and a brain ? Hadst thou not com- 
passion and kindness and understanding ? Was 
not thy strength given thee for the service of men ? 
And lo, now, in thy heart is hatred, and in thine 
eyes blindness ; and fire burns in thy brain, and 
blood is upon thy hands. Shall I not weep, there- 
fore, for the misery wherein I find thee ? 

LUPO. Thou art a brave Friar ! Dost thou not 
fear death ? 

FRANCIS. For thee. Brother, greatly I fear it. 
137 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Lo, the Pit : and in the Pit the flame leapeth : and 
m the flame the soul of him that I love perisheth ! 
For, lo, the Pit opens : and wherever thou goest 
the flame runneth after thee. 

[lupo and the Robbers start hack horrified. 
Now it is under thy feet, now it catches thee by 
the hands, now by the throat, nov/ by the heart ! 

ROBBERS. Messer Lupo, this man is a holy terror. 
Save us, save us ! 

FRANCIS. And lo, and lo, and lo ! . . . 

[There comes a deep rumbling, a great fall of 

rock and shale slides down the mountain. 

The mouth of the pass is filled with rubble and 

torn trees. 

ROBBERS. Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! The mountain is 

falling on us ! 

[They run hither and thither and cower in 
hiding-places, juniper, bound hand and foot, 
performs a sack-race dance across obstacles, 
and kneels before Francis, very shaken and 
trembling. 
JUNIPER. O Father Francis, Father Francis, 
put your arms round me, or I shall go through ! 

FRANCIS. 'Tis only Brother Mountain shaking 
himself. Do not be afraid ! 

JUNIPER. I 'd wish it were only some one else 
then, Father. Ah ! There ! He 's at it again ! 
[There comes another landslide. The Robbers 
howl despairingly, and run. lupo stays 
fixed half-raised from the ground to which he 
has fallen. Re stares at francis, to whom 
JUNIPER is now clinging with his bound hands. 
FRANCIS. It is over, Juniper. 
138 



BROTHER WOLF 

JUNIPER. Ah 1 Then let us be quick away. 
Father, ere they be back on us. Look ! If I undo 
thy bonds, then canst thou undo mine. 

FRANCIS. Why should we run away, Juniper ? 
Brother Wolf needs us. 

JUNIPER. Sure and true ! Looks as if all his 
teeth had dropped out, Father ! 

[For JUNIPER has read signs that do much to 
reassure him. lupo comes forward and cuts 
their bonds. 

LUPO. Take thy curse from me, Father Friar, 
for I am not fit to die. 

FRANCIS. I did not curse thee, Brother. 

LUPO. Ah ! Did not the Pit open ? 

FRANCIS. It was a little fall of earth, Brother. 
Mother Earth opened her hand ; but she v/as kind 
and hath hurt nobody. 

LUPO. Aye : but why came it then ? 

FRANCIS. I know not. Come, call thy men baet 
to thee, for I would speak with them. 

LUPO. They are gone. I am alone ! 

FRANCIS. Not alone, Brother. 

LUPO. Thou man of wonder ! Who art thou ? 

FRANCIS. I am the little fool of Assisi, the Pover- 
ello ; hast thou not heard tell of him ? Men laugh 
when they speak of me. 

LUPO. From Assisi art thou ? 

FRANCIS. She was my mother ; I was born there. 

LUPO. She was mine — and she cast me out ! In 
the place of justice she denied me ; in my own 
house she robbed me ; in the market she mocked 
me ; in the street she stoned me ; she cursed me, 
she hated me, she sought me that she might slay 
me. And now shall I let vengeance go ? 
139 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Take thy vengeance. Brother, and do 
this. Be thou kind to her ! 

[He stretches out his arms in the form of the cross. 

LUPO. I ? — kind ! [A dull amazement seizes him. 

FRANCIS. O Brother, stand by my side, and look 
upon this city ! Is she not fair ? 

[lupo looks ; there is still hatred in his eyes, his 
hand rests on the handle of his dagger. 

See her face, how it turns to thee in the Hght of 
the sun ! Behold her towers Hke watchmen upon 
the walls, and her roofs like wings to cover her, and 
her windows like eyes. She hath ears also, and 
hands, and feet, Brother ; and therewithal she hath 
a heart. And in her heart standeth the fear of thee. 
Down below are streets, and doors, and a market- 
place, and homes both for rich and poor. And these 
be full of the music of men's voices and the laughter 
of children, of tears also, and cries of sorrow and 
anger. But it is not sorrow or anger which giveth 
beauty to her face, or strength unto her towers. 
And the fear of thee that is in her heart bringeth 
no happiness. 

Come, Brother, let thy heart go down with me 
into yonder city. Here is a house where a mother 
suckles her babe ; and the child knoweth her, 
though he understandeth not. Here is a house 
where a young man bringeth his bride. He closeth 
the door, he turneth, he kisseth her. Sweet is the 
taste of love upon their lips. Here is a house 
where a man lies dying : he hath been strong, but 
now he is feeble and weak. Many things did he 
with his body, Brother ; often he did ill, sometimes 
he did well. Now cometh death, and he under- 
140 



BROTHER WOLF 

standeth not ; yet the good that he did eomforteth 
him. 

[lupo shows signs of compunction and under- 
standing ; his hand drops from his dagger. 
FRANCIS. Yea, because he had love and not 
hatred within his heart, therefore he is not sohtary. 
[FRANCIS lays his hand on lupo's breast. 
Ah, Brother, what is this that moveth thy heart, 
so that it leapeth ? Listen, I will tell thee. A man 
stood once and looked upon a city ; grievously had 
she sinned. And by his side stood the angel of 
God that was come to destroy it. So he said to the 
angel, ' If there be found in this city fifty righteous, 
wilt thou not spare it for fifty's sake ? ' And he 
answered, ' I will spare it for fifty.' Then he said, 
' If there lack five of the fifty ? ' 'I will not destroy 
it for lack of five.' ' If there be forty ? ' 'I will 
not destroy it for lack of ten.' ' If there be thirty ? ' 
' Nay.' ' If there be twenty ? ' The angel said, 
*I will not destroy it for twenty's sake.' 

[lupo begins slowly to unbuckle the belt of his 
dagger. 
And he said, ' Oh, let not my Lord be angry, and 
I will speak but this once. Perad venture there 
shall be ten found there ? ' And he said, ' I will not 
destroy it for ten's sake.' 

[lupo's belt and dagger fall to the ground. 
JUNIPER, with eyes avid for signs, continues 
to cross himself and pray. 
Brother Wolf, thou art a sinner, as I also am a 
sinner. Wilt thou, having so many sins to thy 
charge, be less merciful than God that is without 
sin? 

141 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

[lupo buries his face in his hands. From a 
distance comes the chiming of bells, 
JUNIPER. It is the bells, Father ! 
FRANCIS. Yes, 'tis the bells of Assisi that thou 
hearest. They are ringing for thee. Come, and I 
will show thee twenty in that city, yea forty, yea 
fifty, yea an hundred that shall be glad, when thou 
hast taken from their hearts the fear they have of 
thee. . . . [A pause.] Brother Wolf. 

[lupo, with a sob, reaches out his hand ^ofrancis. 
LUPO. I am blind, Father ; lead me. . . . My life 
is in thy hands. I will go down with thee ! Yes, I 
will go down. 

JUNIPER [rapt in ecstasy]. O Father, I was a 
fool ! For when I came here, I was afraid. 

[But FRANCIS, rapt likewise, listens and does not 
answer. The bells say everything. 



CURTAIK 



142 



SISTER CLARE 




In a hare stable-like interior 
Brother Juniper sits by a 
Jire of glowing embers, his 
head dropping with sleep. To 
one side of the fire is a rough 
bench or settle, to the other a 
recessed corn-bin with half- 
doors, the upper one of which 
stands ajar. Opposite the 
fireplace, staij's lead up to a 
hayloft, the forepart of which 
is partly shut off from the 
chamber below by a wooden partition that does not quite reach the 
roof. Beside the staircase is a door into another chamber; the 
outer door is at the back. From within comes Brother Bernard, 
carrying a light, and stands for a moment watching Brother 
Juniper's jerky efforts to keep awake. 

BERNARD. Whv aren't you a-bed. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. The Father said I was to wait up. 

BERNARD. Oh ? Where is he ? 

JUNIPER. Gone into the forest to fetch wood. 

BERNARD. At this time of night ? What for ? 

JUNIPER. Brother Fire sent him for it. I heard 
'em talking. The Father says : ' Brother Fire, 'tis 
late : will you not go to sleep ? ' ' No,' says Brother 
Fire, and sticks out a tongue ; ' I '11 not.' ' What, 
you 're still wakeful ? ' says the Father. ' I am,' he 
says, and sticks out more tongue. So Brother Fire 
gets his way, and the Father 's gone to fetch wood 
for him. 

BERNARD. Has he been gone long ? 
143 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER. If I ' ve been to sleep without knowing it, 
he has, maybe. [Then to the fire] A bad end to you ! 
— sending the Father out hke that, on a cold night. 

BERNARD. If the Father doesn't mind, why should 
you? 

JUNIPER. If we waited minding till the Father 
did, we should never mind anything ! 

BERNARD. Very true. Brother. But why had 
you to stay up after all the others ? 

JUNIPER. He said we had a friend coming ; and 
if he wasn't back. Brother Fire and I were to be 
here, to make things comfortable. 

BERNARD [smUing]. So Brother Fire had a reason? 

JUNIPER. Sure ! I never thought of it. There ! 
[To the fire] I forgive you, then ! [He puts on the 
last log.] Oh ! when Father Francis comes back, 
he '11 find me sitting up in spirit, maybe ; but in the 
body I shall be — [a snore comes from the loft] — like 
the rest of us up there. 

[Falling to sleep, he jerks, and is awake again. 

BERNARD [going stairwards], God give you good 
sleep. Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Aye ; if God sends it me ! But more 
times than not it seems to come from the Devil. 

BERNARD. Why dost thou think so ? 

JUNIPER. Because when I 'm asleep, I dream of 
things I should not. 

BERNARD. So do wc all. But ou waking, finding 
they are not real, we forget them. 

JUNIPER. Eh ? Do we ? I wish / did. Oh, 
women are the very mischief ! I came here to be 
away from them. But Lord ! when you go to 
sleep there 's generally one waiting for you. 
144 



SISTER CLARE 

BERNARD [extenuatifigly]. Come, come, Brother 1 
JUNIPER. Aye ; 'tis so ! Here 's Brother EHas 
been telHng us things so holy and horrible, it made 
me afraid to listen to him. And to think we 've 
God's word for it ! Have ye heard. Brother, how 
one day, just through lying asleep on his side — or 
on his back, maybe — ^Adam got loose of a rib, and it 
turned into a woman ? 

BERNARD. Surcly. 

JUNIPER. So that 's how sin came into the world, 
— all because of Adam sleeping. 

BERNARD. God causcd him to sleep. Brother. 

JUNIPER. Did he so ? Ah, but he didn't wake 
when God called him. ' Mother Eve,' Brother 
Elias told us her name was ; and a good name too 
if it stands for evil. Oh, women are the root of all 
mischief. You know that yourself. Brother Bernard . 

BERNARD. I havc kuown it. Brother. God rest 

you to peace ; and keep us all from temptation. 

[He goes upstairs, and for a few moments you see 

his light over the partition. Presently the 

light goes out, and from above comes only the 

restful sound of slumber. 

JUNIPER. Temptation ? Oh, I don't mind temp- 
tation, when it 's what you call reasonable. But 
it 's the unreasonableness of it that takes me where 
I 'm weakest. Lord ! if a temptation of that kind 
were to come here now, I couldn't answer for my- 
self — ^nor for her either. [To the fire] Well, are 
you keeping awake, or must I ? There 's no reason 
for the two of us doing it. So long as I wait up, 
that 's all he told me. . . . ' Wait up,' he says, 
' wait up.' But when the weight of waiting gets on 
K 145 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

your eyes, it 's like saying ' Up ! ' to a dead donkey, 
for all the heed they give to you. . . . Up ! . . . 

Up ! ... Up ! 

[And so, gently admonishing himself, he drops 
off to sleep, while from the loft above come the 
peaceful snores of the Brethren. 

[Presently the door opens ; cloaked and hooded a 
young girl enters. There, with all the makings 
of saint or sinner in the fresh beauty of her 
person, stands sister glare, as, from this day 
on, she is destined to be known. Advancing, 
she halts and looks at the sleeping juniper. 
CLARE. Brother, may I come in, and be with you ? 

[juniper wakes with a start, turns, stares at the 
apparition, crosses himself with both hands, 
springs convulsively to his feet, andruns in haste 
to the corn-bin. He jumps in and closes the door. 

[ Unamused, and unperturbed, glare stands look- 
ing after him, then moves to the fire, and stretch- 
ing out her hands, crouches to warm herself. 
But almost at once her hands fall from weari- 
ness. With a deep sigh of exhaustion she sinks 
down and lets her head fall back on the bench. 

[brother juniper, after a while, peeps out, 
and not looking low enough believes her gone. 
Cautiously he puts forth a leg. In doing so, 
upsets a stool, sister glare opens her eyes 
and turns, juniper whips back into hiding. 
Quietly, but resolutely, without any movement 
or raising of the voice, she begins to dig him out. 
CLARE. Brother . . . Brother . . . Brother. 

[Unable to resist, he puts out his head, and stays 
fixed by the stronger will. 
146 



SISTER CLARE 

CLARE. Come back, Brother ; I would speak with 
you. 

JUNIPER [very gradually emerging]. What are ye 
doing here ? 

CLARE. Resting. 

JUNIPER. What are ye resting here for ? 

CLARE. Because rest is here. 

JUNIPER. Not for the hke of you, though. God 
forbid ! 

CLARE. God hasn't forbidden it yet, Brother. 

JUNIPER. What are ye calHng me ' brother ' 
for ? I 'm no brother to a temptation hke you ! 
O Lord ! where 's Father Francis ? 

CLARE. In the forest, gathering windfall. 

JUNIPER. Oh ? ye knew that, did you ? — so 
thought to catch me alone. [He starts crossing 
himself.] Oh, God be merciful to me a sinner ! 
God be merciful to me a sinner ! God be merciful 
to me a 

CLARE. Once is enough. Brother. He hears you. 

JUNIPER. When I 've seen ye go, I '11 believe it ! 

CLARE. If you tell me to go, I will go. 

JUNIPER. Surely it 's not reasonable of ye to say 
that. But if I don't tell you to go, it 's not for 
wanting you to stay. 

CLARE. Why should I not stay. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. ' Brother ' again ! What was it 
brought you ? 

CLARE. A rough road ; a dark night ; and feet 
that, in God's keeping, failed not. 

JUNIPER. O Lord ! am I waking, or am I 
sleeping ? 

CLARE. Do me a service, Brother. 
147 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

j\j'^iT:E.ii [badly scared]. Service? What service? 
CLARE. Here you have a roof, and I am homeless. 
Plere you have warmth, and I am cold. 

JUNIPER. You 're cold, are you ? I was thinking 
you were the other way, just ! 
CLARE. And very hungry. 

JUNIPER. Hungry ? Why ever didn't you say 
that before ? Is it in God's name you tell me — that 
you are hungry ? 

CLARE. In God's name. Brother, I am hungry. 
JUNIPER. The Lord bless it to you — and me too ! 
There 's no sin my feeding you if you be hungry. 
Tell me you 're dying of hunger ; for the more 
you 're dying the better I feel about you. There 
. . . and there . . . and there. Now eat, so that 
I can believe you. 

[So saying, juniper brings out bread and fruit 
and wine, which he puts on the stool and sets 
before her. She reaches for the bread, tries to 
break it, and falls bach exhausted. At this sight, 
in sudden compassion, j^jj^iveu for gets his fear. 
JUNIPER. The Lord be with us ! Here goes ! 
I 'm in for it ! 

[Kneeling beside her, he takes the wine-flask and 

puts it to her lips. 

There ! Open your mouth ! Keep those eyes 

shut ; and don't think it 's me that 's doing it. 

This is a dream we are having, the two of us. 

' Adam, where art thou ? ' I 'm here. Lord, I 'm 

here ! Don't let me oversleep myself, whatever I do ! 

[juniper starts feeding her. Swallowing with 

difficulty, she motions him to stop. He lays 

down the bread, and takes up a bunch of grapes, 

148 



SISTER CLARE 

Nay, but you must eat something, Creature — 
Sister ! And you can do it without opening those 
eyes. Shut 'em, I tell you ! Now, there is one for 
you. . . . And there is another for you. . . . And 
there 's another. . . . Now another . . . and now 
another . . . and another. 
CLARE. Not so fast, — Brother. 

[He waits a moment, watching till she has done 

swallowing. 

JUNIPER. Ah ! It 's doing ye good ! So now we 

begin again. Here 's one. . . . Here 's two. . . . 

Here 's three. . . . Holy Trinity, we 're getting 

along well now ! [He continues feeding her, 

CLARE. That 's enough. Brother. Now all I need 

is rest. 

[She opens her eyes, smiles at him, then with a 

confiding gesture surrenders herself to sleep 

under his very eyes, juniper gets up and 

stands hack, much embarrassed, and with a 

growing fear of what he has done. 

JUNIPER. Look at that, now ! What '11 1 do with 

myself, now I 've left off feeding her, — now that 

she isn't hungry any more ? Now that she — O 

Lord ! what have I been doing ? Bring me back 

to my right senses ! Let me wake, else I 'm a lost 

soul ! Here 's a Temptation shining on me like a 

morning star ! And I a poor sinner ; and this 

the dead of night; and all the Brothers asleep, 

and Father Francis gone out to fetch wood ; and 

the Devil seeing to it that he shan't come back 

again ! 

[A deep snore from above restores to him the 
sense of companionship, 
149 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Ah ! there 's a voice from heaven now to remind 
me. Yes, Brothers, yes ; I was coming up to 
you. 

[So saying, in great haste he mounts the stair, 
enters the sleeping chamber, and begins to 
rouse the Bretlwen, 
JUNIPER. Brother Bernard . . . Brother Ber- 
nard, wake for the love of God ! Brother Giles ! 
Brother Elias ! Brother Angelo ! 
BERNARD. What is it. Brother ? 
JUNIPER. Get the others to wake I When we 
are all awake, I '11 tell you. 

ELIAS. We are awake. Brother. 
JUNIPER. Are you sure you 're awake ? I wish 
I could be sure I was ! 

BERNARD. Tell US, Brother, what is the matter ? 
JUNIPER. Down below 's a Temptation, Brother, 
waiting for all of you. The Lord save you from it 
— ^and me, and all of us ! And there was I in peril 
of mortal sin, not knowing it ! Are ye coming ? 
ELIAS. We are coming. Brother. 
JUNIPER. Strike a light, then : and one of you 
hold me by the hand, for down there it 's dark. 

{A light is struck ; together the Brothers descend 
the stair, juniper leading them. 
Wait now ! Cross yourselves : then I '11 show it 
you. Look, — over there ! 

[Very devoutly the Brothers cross themselves, and 
though less scared than brother juniper 
would like them to be, awe is upon them when 
they see a woman, young and fair, stretched out 
asleep before the fire. 
ELIAS. How came this. Brother ? 
150 



SISTER CLARE 

JUNIPER. God knows. I was asleep. When I 
woke up she was there. 

ELiAS. There — as now ? 

JUNIPER. No ! God forbid, Brother Elias ! I 
was there then. No : she was there — standing. 
{He indicates the exact spot. 

ELIAS. And the door open ? 

JUNIPER. No : the door wasn't open, but my 
eyes were open. 

GILES. What did you do. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. Jumped hke a flea that you can't catch. 
There 's where I went. [Points to the corn-bin, 

ELIAS. What happened then ? 

JUNIPER. Oh ! a great thing happened. She 
didn't jump after me. 

ELIAS. And then ? 

[juniper under the stern eye of brother elias 
becomes conscious of his guilt. 

juniper. Then — if the Lord was merciful — I 
must have gone to sleep. 

ELIAS. Nay ! How is that possible ? 

JUNIPER. Because, when she called me, I went 
out and had dealings with her, which I shouldn't 
have done had I been in my right senses. 

[At this there is great horror and consternation 
among the Brethren. 

ELIAS. O miserable man, into what sin hast thou 
fallen ? 

JUNIPER. I know not, Brother. She said she 
was hungry, so I — I fed her ; said she was cold, so 
I poured wine into her ; said she 'd nowhere to go, 
so I let her stay. That 's all. Brother. And when 
she went to sleep, then I woke, and came up to 
151 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

fetch you. And here we all are ; and there she is ; 
and the Lord only knows — ^whether it 's true or not. 
BERNARD. What shall we do, Brothers ? 
GILES. Wait till the little Father returns. 
ELiAS. We cannot wait here. Brother. 
ANGELO. Let us so pray, Brothers, that we flee 
from Temptation. 

ELIAS. Aye ! But here is Temptation. 
GILES. I think the Temptation is asleep, and will 
not waken. 

ELIAS. In sleep. Brother Giles, does the worm 
die ? In sleep is the fire quenched ? 

JUNIPER. That 's what I said. Brother Bernard, 
When we 're asleep we are all worms. 
ELIAS. Come then, let us go ! 
GILES [making the sign of the cross over her]. The 
Lord bless thee, little Sister, and give thee peace ! 
[They go to the door, and opening it encounter 
FRANCIS, who enters carrying wood. 
FRANCIS. Where are you going, Brothers ? 
JUNIPER. We were going for a walk, Father, from 
that which is yonder. 

[He points to the sleeper, francis goes and 
looks at her. 
FRANCIS. Sweet Sister Charity, come at last ! . . . 
Wherefor away. Brothers ? 

[The Brothers stand looking a little ashamed of 
themselves. 
BERNARD. We wcre afraid, Father. 
FRANCIS. Of what ? 
ELIAS. Of temptation. 
FRANCIS. Where, Brothers ? 
BERNARD. In our own hearts. Father. 
152 



SISTER CLARE 

FRANCIS. Come, then, let us sit down, that in our 
hearts we may find reason. Our Kttle Sister is 
weary and will not waken. 

JUNIPER. Father, was she the friend I was to 
wait for ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, Brother. 

JUNIPER. Oh, why didn't you tell me, Father, 
that it was a woman ? 

FRANCIS. Why should I ? You could see that 
for yourself. 

JUNIPER. When she came in at that door, I 
wanted to shoo her out again ! 

FRANCIS. And she ? 

JUNIPER. She was kind ; she didn't go. She 'd 
go, she said, if I told her. But I didn't. Father. 

FRANCIS. W^hat did you do. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. I fed her, — till she could eat no more. 
Then, when she was safe asleep, I called the others. 

FRANCIS. Brother Juniper, come and let me lay 
my hands on thee. 

[juniper goes and kneels before him. 

FRANCIS. God made a great fool when He made 
thee. Juniper — for when He gave thee foolishness. He 
gave thee light also, and v/isdom, and understanding. 

JUNIPER. How did He that. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Having love for thee. 

JUNIPER. How will I be sure. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Because those whom He loves love 
others. By this shall men know that ye are His 
disciples, — ^if ye love all, hating nothing that He 
hath made. 

ANGELO. Though we hate nothing, Father, are 
we to fear nothing ? 

153 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. What have ye to fear ? 

BERNARD. Ouiselves, Father. 

FRANCIS. Aye. Therefore get rid of self. For 
that ye have become brethren — not to each other 
only, but to all. Look at our little Sister, and 
learn of her, how without any fear of us she lies 
sleeping ! 

ELiAS. Father, if you knew that she was coming, 
why did you go and leave us ? 

FRANCIS. Because with Brother Juniper ye were 
safe. 

JUNIPER. With me ? The Lord save us ! 

ANGELO. Why has she come. Father ? 

FRANCIS. God sent her. 

GILES. To be one of us, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Surely ! If we have brothers, must we 
not have sisters as well ? Has not God for their 
service as good a use ? This roof was not of our 
building, nor is it ours ; yet here has room been 
found for us. Shall not some room be found for 
them, also — when we seek it for them ? Men are 
kind. Brothers, and the world has a great heart. 
Are we to be less kind than they ? Shall we say 
' Go ' to any that have heard the voice of Love 
say ' Come ' ? 

ELIAS. But what can she do. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Bring others ; work as we do , give 
service ; love poverty ; find freedom ; have joy ! 
If no man provide them a roof, we will build it for 
them. If they lack food, we will supply it to them. 
If what we have seem little, by sharing we will make 
it greater. For, as a few loaves and fishes gave food 
to a multitude, so shall goodwill and service to our 
154 



SISTER CLARE 

need bring abundance. While we work in the field, 
they will weave ; while we go forth into the world, 
they will keep house ; when we come to rags, they 
will clothe us again ; when we are sick, they will 
minister to us. When we are in doubt, they will 
give us counsel ; and when we knock at their door, 
they will open and bid us welcome. 

ELiAS. But — ^what will the world say. Father ? 
FRANCIS. I don't know, Brother. Must we wait 
till we know what the world will say ? What God 
says we know already. For had He not called her, 
she would not have come. 

BERNARD. Who is shc, Father ? 
FRANCIS. A little Sister, named Clare. 

[All stand silently looking at her. After a pause 
FRANCIS speaks again. 
Brothers, let us thank God ! 

[He kneels; they do the same; and when he begins 
the ' Ave ' they all join in. 
ALL. Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum : 
benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus 
ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora 
pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis 
nostrae. . . . Amen. 

[They rise and stand watching, while francis 

puts wood on the fire, and covers sister glare 

with a cloak. 

FRANCIS. Let us go to bed. Brothers, for it is late. 

You, Brother Fire, shall sit up with her ; and you, 

Sister Cloak,, shall keep her warm. Good -night, 

little Sister ; sleep well ! 

JUNIPER. Father, you tempt me to think there 's 
no such thing in the world as a temptation ! 
155 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. 'Tis a good thought, Brother : play on 
it, and some day it may come true. 

JUNIPER. Oh : if only Father Adam could have 
thought that ! 

FRANCIS. What then. Brother ? 
JUNIPER. Then the Tree wouldn't have tempted 
him. 

YRANCis [happy to be so instructed]. No! . . .no! 
That is true, Brothers. Juniper is quite right. 
GILES. Little Father, he always is ! 

[And with this good thought in their hearts, one 
by one they steal quietly up to bed, francis 
going last. 



CURTAIN 



156 



THE LEPERS 




It is evening; and the hloom 
of twilight , which has begun to 
pervade the den-like enclosure, 
gives it almost a touch oj 
beauty. But wherever the eye 
probes the obscurity, it finds 
squalor and wretchedness : 
only where the ruinous wall 
ends against the glow of an 
evening sky is there any 
glimpse of loveliness fro7n the 
free world lying beyond. In 
this well of misery the Lepers have their home. Dying men lie 
hutched in tomb-like recesses of the wall, from which occasionally 
emerge feebly gesticulatory hands or skull-like heads. 

About the enclosure other figures , hooded for death , move listlessly 
or sit sunk in dejection. One gnaws a bone ; another patches an 
old shoe; another, half-blind, sits apart from the rest biting his 
fists. From a cistern near the gate one dips and carries water in 
a cracked pitcher which leaks as he goes. As he passes, feeble 
hands reach out from the tombs, and faint voices cry for water ; 
paying no heed he carries his pitcher to its destination elsewhere. 
Another leper sits at the top of a flight of stone steps let into the 
thickness of the wall, extending a pewter bowl to which, by the 
rattle of pebbles, he seeks to attract the attention of passers-by. 

A crude thrumming of stringed instruments is heard from 
peasants passing along the road ; and the leper's shrill whine for 
charity makes inaudible for a moment the sounds of pain rising 
from below. 

1st leper. Pity the poor lepers ! Charity, kind 
Charity ! For the love of God, pity, pity ! kind 
Charity ! 

[The thrumming of the music goes on. ' Dirty 
157 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

lepers ! ' cries a voice. The beggar's whine 
changes into a splutter of rage. 
Psha ! Pest take you ! God make a dirty leper 
of you ! 

[Thrown from below, the pulp of an over-ripe 
fruit breaks against his face. Weak of spirit 
he utters a startled cry ; fight goes out of him, 
he sits whimpering, till presently with his 
beggar's whine he starts again. The water- 
carrier, who at the sound of approaching 
feet has stopped expectant by the gate, now 
turns dejectedly away and resumes his task. 
2nd leper. I thought, maybe, 'twas the Pover- 
ello coming. 

OLD LEPER [pausing from his shoe-mending]. Ugh ! 
He won't come again. 
2nd leper. Why not ? 

OLD leper. Would you ? Coming once was a 
wonder : twice would be a miracle. . . . That 
doesn't happen here. 

2nd leper [slowly, as if at a loss]. He told me he 
would come. Why else was I to do this ? 

[The 3rd leper comes by, stops, picks up the 
shoe-mending, looks at it derisively and throws 
it down. 
OLD leper [to 2nd leper]. What are you 
doing ? 

2nd leper. Those vines : watering them. 
Make them grow, he said, — to be a shade. . . . 
It 's been a hot day. 

OLD LEPER. Said so, did he ? I never saw 'em 
grow. Vines are they ? 

2nd leper. He said they 'd bear fruit. 
158 



THE LEPERS 

OLD LEPER. And all be lepers before any one 
could eat 'em. . . . Grow ! 

[Suddenly without motion the half-blind leper 
speaks. 
HALF-BLIND LEPER. Rot. . . . Rot, and die ! 
2nd LEPER [returning to the cistern]. Ayah ! . . . 
Ayah ! . . . Ayah ! 

1st leper. Pity, pity ! kind Charity ! 

[2nd leper crosses, his pitcher leaking as he goes. 
half-blind leper. Don't come fouling it over 
me ! 

2nd leper [slowly, as one repeating a thing learned 
by rote]. Your pardon — Brother ! 

OLD LEPER [laughing]. Heh! Heh! 'Brother!' 
That 's the new cure — ^for lepers ! We are all catch- 
ing it ! Pah ! He won't come again, I tell you. 
Well, blind black dog, how 's the mange ? Are you 
a ' brother ' : eh ? 

half-blind leper. Curse of hell take you ! 
Who 'd be brother to you ? 

OLD leper. Nobody : if he could help it. You 
can't. Curse of hell 's on both of us. There 's no 
getting away from that, — ' Brother.' 

1st leper [on wall]. Oh look ! look ! They 
are bringing us another ! A dirty leper ! Ha ! 
They 've got him young, too. Aye ; we 've room 
yet. Put him in ! 

[The news of a fresh arrival causes an uncanny 
stir in the community. They come flocking ; 
some mount the wall and throw gibes at the 
newcomer and at those who are bringing him. 
Dying men thrust out their heads and watch 
expectant for the gate to open. Only the half- 
159 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BLIND LEPER sits ufimoved. Outside, chains 
are let down, a key turns, the door opens ; with 
noose on neck, thrust forward at the end of a 
pole, the newcomer stumbles in. A leper's 
robe and cowl are thrown in after him : the 
door shuts to the sound of lock and chain. 
1st leper. Pity, pity, pity ! kind Charity ! 
[Those outside depart : the leper spits after 
them. The young leper stands motionless ; 
all the others look at him. 
YOUNG LEPER. So. Now I 'm dead. . . . 
They 've locked the gate. Ah ! 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. Stop your whiiiing, puppy! 
VOICES [from the tombs']. Water ! Water ! 

[Indifferently the water-carrier puts down his 
pitcher where they canr each and help themselves. 
Greedy but half-timorous, relying on their 
numbers, the Lepers close in on the newcomer. 
OLD LEPER. What have you brought for us ? 
[The YOUNG LEPER looks at him, dazed, and 
makes no answer. 
You have to pay your footing to come here. Hold 
him, fellows ! Now, we '11 see. 

[While the others keep grip of him, the old leper 
searches him. Though shrinking from their 
touch, he submits. 
old leper. Nothing ! . . . Nothing ! . . . Not a penny ! 
YOUNG LEPER. All I had — they took. 
OLD LEPER. Give me that coat ! You don't wear 
that here. Off with it ! Here 's a better. 

[They pull off his coat, and put on him the 
leper's robe and cowl. 
Now you look honest. Who, — ^what are you ? 
160 



THE LEPERS 

YOUNG LEPER. Nothing. What 's a man Hke me ? 
OLD LEPER. So you 've got to it, eh ? Well, 
think of nothing. That 's a good thought. Some 
day you '11 get used to it. 

1st leper [on wall]. Charity, kind Charity ! Pity 
the poor lepers ! Pity the poor ! Pity the poor ! 

2nd leper [watching the young leper curiously]. 
Look ! What 's he thinking of now ? 

YOUNG leper. Last night I should have wed a 
bride. 

LEPERS [laughing]. Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! 

[The laugh goes joylessly on ; for this is a good 
joke, and one they can relish. 
HALF-BLIND LEPER. A bride ? Where is she 
now ? 

YOUNG LEPER. They found out. They took her 
away. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. So you let yours go ? . . . 
I killed mine. 

OLD LEPER. Much good the killing did you. It 's 
a cheap boast. They don't hang lepers when they 
do murder. Living 's worse. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. I was uo Icpcr then. 
3rd leper [laughing]. No : not till you met me ! 
[The HALF-BLIND LEPER Icaps wp with a cry of 
rage, and makes for him. The 8rd leper 
retreats into the crowd. 
3rd leper [derisively]. Clothes-peg ! 
OLD LEPER [interposing]. Keep your hands off 
him, ' Brother ' ! We 've no brides here. 

[The HALF-BLIND LEPER tums stouHy, and sits 
down again. 
YOUNG LEPER. Who is that man ? 

L 161 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

3rd leper. Ask him ! Nobody knows. Though 
'twas I brought him. 

YOUNG LEPER. Why ? How ? 

3rd LEPER. As a dog brings in fleas : got him in 
my coat. You 'd Hke to hear it, eh ? 

OLD LEPER [at his cobbling again]. Aye, tell it, 
tell it ! 'Tis a good tale ; one that we like to hear. 

2nd leper. And that he likes to tell. 

3rd leper. Black dog likes to hear it, too. Don't 
you? 

[The half-blind leper sits motionless, making 
no sign. 

3rd leper [pointing maliciously]. Watch ! . . . 
Three years ago, God made me a leper. He 'd a 
reason for it, though I didn't know : not then. 
Turned out of my own house, having nowhere to go, 
I was coming here. There, on the road, I met him, 
running for his life. He says — (Watch !) — ' Give 
me thy coat and the rest ; and do thou take mine ! ' 
So he being the stronger, and his coat being the 
better, and given no choice, I let him take all. He 
asked no question : why should I ? 

YOUNG LEPER. What should he want thine for ? 

3rd leper. What for ? Watch, and I '11 tell you. 
Oh, he 'd a fine coat : but there was blood on it, — 
and men were out seeking him ; so my coat seemed 
the safer. Ha ! Two months later, my coat comes 
here with him in it. That 's the tale. When he 
saw me again — here — he wanted to kill me : didn't 
you, ' Brother ' ? But the rest of us fell to and 
gave him such a drubbing, that now he dares not. 
Eh ! 'Twas a real brother I was to him, when I 
gave him a leper's coat to scrape his back with I 
162 



THE LEPERS 

[The Lepers laugh : the half-blind leper sits 
motionless ; only his hands are seen working 
with rage. 
OLD i^PER. God has been just to you, ' Brother.' 

[Under cover of the Lepers' laughter the unlocking 
of the gates has not been heard, francis 
enters accompanied by brother leo, and 
followed by juniper carrying a sack. The 
YOUNG leper, who is the first to catch sight 
of them, runs and throws himself at the feet of 

FRANCIS. 

YOUNG LEPER. Father Poverello ! Father Pove- 
rello ! 

FRANCIS [lifting him]. So you have come safe. 
Brother ? 

OLD LEPER [astonished]. What ? Again ? 
2nd leper. Here is thy miracle. 
3rd leper. Who are the others ? 
YOUNG LEPER. I 'm dead, Httle Father, dead ! 
FRANCIS. Nay ; for here is Brother Leo hath a 
message for thee, from one thou lovest. 

[brother LEO takes the young leper aside. 
OLD LEPER. So you 'vc come again, Poverello ? 
FRANCIS. Why not again. Brother ? 
OLD LEPER. I said you were no such fool. But 
here 's three of you. 

FRANCIS. There are more of us in the world. 
Brother, than we know. 

[The 2nd leper takes up his pitcher and ap- 
proaches FRANCIS. At once the voices from 
the tombs begin crying again — 'Water! Water!' 
2nd leper. See, Father, I have been watering thy 
vines. 

163 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Gome, then ! Over there thy brothers 
call for thee. Water them, too. 

[They go together to give water to the sick and dying. 
Near the door stands juniper, a little dazed 
and timorous. Having let down his sack, he 
stands waiting. 

3rd leper [to juniper]. What 's brought a 
thing hke thee ? 

JUNIPER. Sure ; I 'm one of you. 

3rd LEPER [with appetite]. What ? a leper ? 

JUNIPER. The worst ease ye ever saw. I 've got 
sin all over me. 

3rd leper [pulling down his hood]. Liar ! There's 
to your face ! [Spits at him. 

JUNIPER [wiping his face with his sleeve], I meant 
in my inside. Is that the cure for it ? 

OLD LEPER. Cure ? You can't cure corpses. 

JUNIPER. Well ; that 's something to know. It 
rests the mind. 

OLD LEPER. Where have you come from ? 

JUNIPER. The world. I was never in heaven yet. 

OLD LEPER. What are you ? A preacher ? 

JUNIPER. I a preacher ? God help any congre- 
gation that had to hear me ! I 'm just what I look 
— a fool. 

OLD LEPER. I 'd guessed it. What 's in your sack? 

JUNIPER. Father, they are asking what 's in the 
sack. 

FRANCIS. I am coming, Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. I can tell you one thing that 's in it : 
— a good weight. Father Francis wanted to carry 
it himself. But a donkey's back was better ; that 
doesn't break. 

164 



THE LEPERS 

[Suddenly he catches sight of the old leper's 
shoe-mending. 
What have you got there ? A shoe ? You call 
that mending. Here ; give it ! You didn't guess 
me for a shoemaker, when you guessed me for a 
fool, did you ? But I am. 

[And sitting down he sets to work, francis 
comes, takes the sack, and begins to open it. 
FRANCIS. Come, Brothers ! See what we have 
brought you. 

[All the Lepers close round, except the half- 
blind LEPER who still sits apart, and the 
YOUNG LEPER who, Ms consultation with 
BROTHER LEO now ovcr, follows Mm diffidently 
as he goes to give attendance to the sick lying in 
the tombs. Around the opening of the sack a 
babel of voices has risen ; there is much push- 
ing for place, and snatching from hand to 
hand. 
LEPERS. Ah ! Poverello ! Poverello ! For me ! 
Give it to me ! No, that 's mine ! I say, mine ! 

FRANCIS. Patience, Brothers. Here is more. 
The sack is not empty. 

3rd leper. Oh ! Bread ! White bread ! I 
haven't seen white bread since — since . . . Where 
got you that, Poverello ? 

FRANCIS. It was given me : as much as I could 
carry. And when I want more I am to have it. 
OLD leper. That is strange telling. For us ? 
FRANCIS. Yes : when I said, ' It is for the lepers,' 
how could they refuse me ? No one had asked 
them before. That is strange. 

OLD LEPER. Do you think men love lepers ? 
165 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Do not lepers love men ? 

3rd leper. We — ^we love men ? He ! He ! He ! 

FRANCIS. Why, surely : for you do not hate them. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. Not hate ? What have we 
left — ^but hate ? Are you going to take that ? 

FRANCIS [rising and going to him]. Here is bread. 

Brother. Bread does not hate. Why should we ? 

\The HALF-BLIND LEPER takes the bread and puts 

it beside him. The 3rd leper sets an eye on it. 

FRANCIS \to the others']. So you thought I should 
not come ? 

2nd leper. Some of us thought not. Father. 

FRANCIS. Why ? Was any here that had not 
been kind to me ? or I not kind to him ? Ah, 
forgive me. Brother ! 

2nd leper. Kind ? There is no kindness here ! 
Where men lock in evil, they must needs lock out 
good. 

FRANCIS. Indeed no. Brother! None can lock 
out good. Good is everywhere. 

OLD LEPER. Not here, little man. 

FRANCIS. Yes ; in thy heart. Brother. In thy 
senses, also. 

2nd leper. How in my senses ? 

FRANCIS. Dost thou uot scc the sun shine ? 
Canst thou not taste the air ? Do not our ears tell 
us that the whole world is alive ? Does not the 
earth give forth scent after rain ? Is there no 
fragrance in flowers and herbs. Is not that a bird 
singing ? Man's senses are a palace wherein all 
these do minister. Aye, though this gate be locked, 
they enter to give you joy. Wheresoever the eye 
travels, yonder it finds greeting ; and where it goes 
166 



THE LEPERS 

there we go also. See, Brothers, there are birds ; 
and yonder are woods and mountains ; and there- 
under Hes Assisi. Ye have not forgotten Assisi. 
And that v/hich ye have in your hearts is yours still. 
[Covertly the 3iid leper puts out his hand to 
take the bread which the half-blind leper 
has left lying. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER [striking at his hand furi- 
ously]. Dirty thief ! 

3rd leper. The dirty thief hath not taken thy 
coat — ^nor thy leprosy ! 

HALF-BLIND LEPER [hurling the bread furiously 
after him]. Now thou hast touched, — take it ! 

3rd LEPER. Thy scabby touch is fouler than 
mine ! The ground rots under thy feet ! 

FRANCIS [to 3rd leper]. And the air was clean 
till thy tongue poisoned it. Contend no more. 
Brothers. Here is enough for all. 

OLD LEPER. 'Twasn't more bread he wanted : 
'twas that the other should be without. A good 
pair of haters, little Father. God made them, so 
there 's no mending them. 

FRANCIS. I have mendings for one of them. [To 
3rd leper] Look, Brother ; here are the leather 
and the tools, as I promised thee. 

3rd leper. What was that for ? 

FRANCIS. To make shoes. 

3rd leper. Why should I make shoes now ? 

FRANCIS. Didst thou not tell me thou wast a 
shoemaker ? 

3rd leper. Not now. I was once. 

FRANCIS. Thou hast hands still ; and thy brothers 
have feet. Wilt thou not make for them ? 
167 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Srd leper. / make for these dirty lepers ! I 
was put here to rot ; not to make shoes. 

FRANCIS. O Brothers, why will ye be solitary ? 
For ye have all needs to which each one may 
minister. And they that serve each other become 
one. 

3rd leper. Why should I serve any ? 

FRANCIS. Why should any serve you ? There is 
no reason save love. Look, friends, what is that 
here stands, and here runs ? 

LEPERS. Water. ... A spring. 

FRANCIS [holding his hands to the spout of the 
cistern]. 'Tis a mere trickle, and it runs but slowly ; 
yet my hands cannot contain it, because it runs to 
do you service. And is not that good for it ? 

2nd leper. Good ? How, Master ? 

FRANCIS. If it stood still it would become foul ; 
but running, it remains pure. 

old leper. It 's running to get away from us, 
Father ! 

FRANCIS. And yet is still with you ; and having 
served you, so will it serve others. Whither is it 
bound now, think you ? 

2nd leper. To the valley — down yonder. 

FRANCIS. Aye : and then ? 

2nd leper. To the river. 

FRANCIS. And then ? 

2nd leper. Why, to the sea. 

FRANCIS. And then ? 

2nd leper. Then nothing : then it hath lost 
itself. " 

FRANCIS. Aye, truty : for self is but a small 
thing. Yet still it liveth ; for in the sea it hath its 
168 



THE LEPERS 

dwelling, therewith having become one. And of 
no part canst thou say, ' Here it is ; or here it 
is not ' — for it is everywhere. Farewell, Sister 
Water ! Because thou goest to do service, God 
will make thee great. 

[He opens his hands, and the water runs out of 

them. 

OLD LEPER. We don't understand, little Father. 

FRANCIS. No, Brother, neither do I ; for the ways 

of Love are too great that our minds should contain 

them. Yet we all have part ; and cannot away 

from it. 

[The HALF-BLIND LEPER has risen, and after 
standing for a while now comes slowly forward 
toward him. 
HALF-BLIND LEPER. So you are the Poverello, 
eh ? the preacher ? 

FRANCIS. The Poverello, Brother. If thou lack 
poverty, share mine : for therein thou shalt find 

joy- 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. How docs a man share 
poverty ? 

FRANCIS. By love, and service, and obedience. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. ' Obedience ' ? Art thou 
ready to obey me ? 

FRANCIS. Very willingly. Brother. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. What I tell thcc to dc— 
thou wilt do it ? 

FRANCIS. If it may be done in charity. 

HALF-BLIND LEPER. Docs Charity wash feet ? 

2nd leper. Do not go too near, Poverello ! He 
is foul — all over. 

[The glow of day has gone. Shadows deepen ; 
169 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

the light of the rising moon begins to prevail. 
In the obscurity francis stands struggling with 
his physical repulsion. The Lepers gather 
expectant and watch, leo and juniper are 
watching also. 
FRANCIS [stretching out his hands]. O all ye, now 
pray that I may have charity ! 

HALF-BLIND LEPER [with a harsh laugh]. Ha ! 
I have had charity of thee ere now — ' Brother.' 
Aye ; by this bloody hand ! 

FRANCIS [startled]. In God's name, who art thou ? 
HALF-BLIND LEPER. One that was then thy 
better : now food for worms. 

FRANCIS. Ah ! Brother ; show me thy face ! 
HALF-BLIND LEPER [throwing] back his hood]. 
My face ! There is what 's left of it ! Dost know 
me ? [FRANCIS searches, and finds. 

FRANCIS. O God ! . . . Rudolfo ! 
RUDOLFo. That t£;a5 my name. I had forgotten it. 
[FRANCIS stands torn by emotion : curiously and 
with malice the half-blind eyes peer at him. 
So ! . , . thou wilt not wash my feet — ' Brother ' ? 
FRANCIS . Juniper, yonder is a bowl . Fill it for me . 
JUNIPER. Father, Brother Leo has taken it. 
FRANCIS. Let him bring it — quickly. 

[He turns to rudolfo. 
By your leave. Brother. Sit down, and let me 
uncover your feet. 

RUDOLFO. So — ^}^ou wiil ! 

[FRANCIS kneels and takes off the foot- wrappings. 
OLD LEPER. Now with thcsc sinful eyes do I see 
miracle 1 

[leo, having filled the bowl at the cistern, stands 
170 



THE LEPERS 

waiting, his face rigid, francis rises and 
goes to him. 
FRANCIS. Brother Leo, give me the bowl. 
LEO. No, Father ; I will not give it you. 
FRANCIS. Alas, Brother ! Dost thou so lack 
charity ? 

LEO. Pray — ^pray, little Father, that I fail not 1 
FRANCIS [astonished]. Doing what ? 
LEO. That which I have learned of thee. 
FRANCIS. O Christ, sweet Maker of men ! 

[leg goes across to rudolfo, bearing the bowl. 
FRANCIS follows Mm. 
LEO. By your leave. Brother. 
RUDOLFO [to FRANCIS]. So you won't, ch ? 
FRANCIS. He, with more love, hath the better 
claim. 

RUDOLFO. Who the devil is he ? 
LEO [kneeling]. Thy lover and servant. Brother. 
RUDOLFO [peering doubtfully]. I know that voice ! 
Show me thy face ! Who art thou ? 

LEO [letting down hood and tunic, in preparation 
for the foot-washing]. I am Brother Leo, — that 
was Lucio. 

[rudolfo stares dreadfully at him, and cannot 
speak. 
FRANCIS [drawing up his hood]. Come, Juniper, 
come, let us go ! 

[They go quickly to the door, and signal to be let 
out. While waiting they both kneel in worship. 
The door opens ; they rise and go : the door 
closes again. And now in the darkening scene, 
crossed by a pale ray of moonlight, something 
strange is happening. The Lepers stand 
171 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

spellbound : some of the sick have risen from 
their beds to watch ; the dying thricst out their 
heads. 
RUDOLFO. Aye ! Thou dost well to hate, and 
feast thine eyes on him — that let thee live ! 

LEO. For my life, Brother, I thank thee. . . . 
And thou, also, art alive. ... So we are together 
again. 

[As he reaches for them, rudolfo draws back his 
feet. 
RUDOLFO. Ah, mercy ! Do not touch me I 
LEO. Thy pardon. Brother. Give thyself to love ; 
And let me wash thy feet ! 

[For a moment rudolfo sits rigid ; then with 
a loud cry he flings up his hands ; and, throw- 
ing back cowl and robe, sits naked to the waist, 
his body showing a dreadful whiteness in the 
dim light. 
RUDOLFO. Ah ! not my feet, — 

Not my feet only, but my hands and head ! 
LEO. Thy feet first. Brother. 
OLD LEPER. What does it all mean ? 
They frighten me ! 

[Fear, indeed, seems to be upon all of them. Only 
one of the dying Lepers speaks. 
LEPER. Christ ! Gentle Christ ! 

[As LEO stoops to wash the feet of rudolfo the 
scene fades into darkness. 

CURTAIN 



172 



SISTER GOLD 




Scene: A hillside road lead- 
ing up into forest. Dawn 
is beginning ; one bird pipes, 
then another, till the air is 
loud with them. As the 
light increases one sees under 
the trees by the wayside the 
figure of Francis^ hooded, 
with hands folded in his 
sleeves, his head raised in 
ecstasy. 



FRANCIS. Welcome, Sister Dawn ! 

[The sun rises. 
Welcome, Brother Sun ! 

[Up the hill comes brother juniper, grunting 

and out of breath, carrying a large basket full 

of bread. 

JUNIPER. O Lord ! my poor back ! O Lord ! 

what big brother bellies to feed we do all have, to 

be sure ! O Lord ! what a 

[He sees francis and pulls up with a jerk. 
The Lord love you. Father, have you had a stroke ? 
Or is it Lot's Wife you 're thinking yourself to be ? 
Or is it our Blessed Lord, and our Lady, and all the 
rest of 'em ye 're seeing up there so plain ? . . . 
Father Francis, speak to me for the love of God ! 
. . . O Lord ! the holy horrors : he 's got 'em 
again ! . . . Here 's bread. Father Francis, just 
come from the oven, fresh and warm like our Lord 
173 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Himself when He rose the third day. Aren't you 

wanting any yet ? You haven't eaten 

[A GOAT-BOY has come upon the scene, and stands 
looking on, rather dazed and puzzled. At sight 
of him BROTHER juniper's tone changes. 
Well, who are you ? What are you doing there, 
with those eyes ? 

GOAT-BOY. Holy Friar, — ^what 's yon man a-doing? 
What for 's he standing and staring like that ? 

JUNIPER. He 's having a vision. Not for your 
eyes, nor mine. 

GOAT-BOY. What for ? 

JUNIPER. Can't help himself. It 's the way the 
spirit takes him. I 'd have 'em myself sometimes, 
if they didn't hurt so. Now, Little-legs, you be off ! 

GOAT-BOY. What 's it about ? What 's he seeing, 
now ? O Father, look at his eyes ! 

JUNIPER. He 's seeing Heaven, of course — 
Heaven : place the like of us won't see till sin's gone 
out of us, and all the flesh off our bones. But he 's 
there already. Ah, you could stick a pin into him 
now, he wouldn't feel it. You could beat thorns 
into him, and he 'd think 'twas only the skip of a flea. 

GOAT-BOY. What for 's all that gold lying at his 
feet, Father ? 

JUNIPER. Gold ! What are you talking about, 
boy ? Gold ? [He goes and looks.] O Lord, keep 
safe my sinful eyes ! Why, what 's this ? Shut 
your eyes, boy ! Shut your eyes ! This isn't for 
the like of you to see. . . . Father . . . Father 
Francis, did you know you 'd got gold here under 
your feet ? Father, did you know ? . . . Holy 
Saints and sinners ! here 's enough sold to make a 
174 



SISTER GOLD 

man miserable for life ! . . . Did the Devil send it 
to tempt you. Father ? Or was it our Lady want- 
ing you to build her a fine new church ? What are 
we going to do with it. Father ? 

GOAT-BOY. He 's coming to his senses again ! I 
saw one of his eyes give a blink. . . . Oh ! 

[mANCis begins to draw his hands out of his 
sleeves. The boy turns and runs. 
JUNIPER. Aye, that 's right ! Scoot away ! . . . 
Gold ! Father, what will I do with it ? Will I dig 
a hole in the ground and bury it till the day of joyful 
resurrection ? Or will I put it in the basket along 
with the bread ? Or will I leave it to the birds ? . . . 
[FRANCIS bends his head and looks at juniper 
and his bread-basket. 
Yes, Father, it 's me that 's talking to you — 
Brother Juniper. I 've been down to the bake- 
house to fetch the bread. 

FRANCIS. Welcome, Brother Bread. 
JUNIPER. Father, where did all this gold come 
from ? 

FRANCIS. You there. Juniper ? . . . Give me a 
mouthful of our dear brother. 

JUNIPER. O Father, why do you always make 
us feel it 's murder to eat anything ? Well, there 's 
a piece out of his back. Bite him. Father ! 

[He gives francis a large piece of bread. Break- 
**^^ off ^ mouthful for himself, francis offers 
the rest to juniper. 
JUNIPER [taking it]. And now teach me. Father, 
where you got all this gold from ? 

FRANCIS. Brother Juniper, hark to that bird ! 
JUNIPER. Yes, Father ; he 's a wonderful bird — 
175 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

for his size. I noticed him, too : got a voice Hke 
a cricket. Dear Father, where did it come from ? 
. . . There, now you are sitting on it. 

FRANCIS. Ah, yes . . . yes, I remember. ... It 
was here. 

JUNIPER. Yes, Father, I thought, maybe, you 'd 
remember it was here. 

[He tries for the gold ; hut francis pays no 
attention. 

FRANCIS. Last night I stood under that tree. . . . 
Sister Owl sat upon a branch. . . . Her voice was 
soft, praising God. 

JUNIPER. Aye, Father. Did you see her catch a 
mouse ? 

FRANCIS And as she sat, three white feathers fell 
out of her breast. 

JUNIPER. Holy Trinity, you don't say ! . . . Oh, 
here 's a story I 'm going to like. 

FRANCIS. Then she went, and Sister Night was 
left alone. 

JUNIPER. Yes, but the gold . . . what about 
the gold, Father ? 

FRANCIS. That is what I 'm telling you. About 
midnight the moon set, and there came rain. Under 
the darkness the leaves dripped, and the earth 
drank, and a sweet savour came up from the ground 
. . . and all the world was asleep. 

JUNIPER. And did the gold walk in its sleep. 
Father ? 

FRANCIS. Sister Sleep is gentle, but she is strong. 
Her wings are silent as the white owl's ; but her 
voice more soft ! 

JUNIPER. But look, Father . . . the gold ! 
176 



SISTER GOLD 

FRANCIS. Now mark. Brother, how poverty 
afflicts poor men ! Night shed benediction from on 
high, slumber filled all the air. . . . Back into the 
sky had come the stars. . . . Overhead went the 
soft drip of leaves. . . . 

JUNIPER. O Father, what have the stars and 
leaves got to do with it ? 

FRANCIS. Then came three poor mortal men. 
Here at my feet they sat down, and in the darkness 
began to count their gold. First one way then an- 
other they counted it, and never would it come right. 
So, snatching it from hand to hand, they fell to 
blows ; and their voices grew loud. No longer 
could I hear the soft breath of night. 

JUNIPER. O Father, were you not afraid ? 

FRANCIS. And as they so wasted themselves in 
wrath, my heart was moved to pity ; and I said 

JUNIPER. Said? O Lord ! were you mad. Father? 
What was it possessed you to say anything ? 

FRANCIS. I said, ' Not so loud. Brothers ! Do 
not wake Sister Night : she is asleep.' 

JUNIPER. Lord help us ! you said that ? . . . 
What then ? 

FRANCIS. Ere I had done speaking, they were 
gone ; and Sister Night had her rest. 

JUNIPER. Eh ! but suppose they should come 
back for it ? 

FRANCIS. Maybe they will. Brother ; for men are 
often foolish, not knowing when they have become 
rich. 

JUNIPER. Gold is a great catch. Father. One 
time I, too, did like to look on it. 

FRANCIS. You did well. Brother, for God gave her 
M 177 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

a goodly countenance. See how with her face she 
loves the sun. Gold is beautiful, Juniper ; and 
when God made gold He loved her and saw that she 
was good. Then came man and spoiled her of her 
beauty. We must be sorry for Sister Gold, Brother, 
and pity when we see her in the dust. 

JUNIPER. Oh look ! Father, look ! There under 
the wood are three men, with eyes watching us ! 
They are coming back, they are coming back ! O 
Father Francis, Father Francis, don't let them kill 
me ! Oh, hide me, hide me safe, somewhere ! 

Enter the three robbers, francis continues 
to eat bread. 

1st robber. Morning, your Reverence ! 

FRANCIS. God bless you. Brother. 

2nd robber. Morning, your Worship ! 

FRANCIS. God keep you, fair friend. 

3rd robber. Master, you must get hence ; this 
pitch is ours. 

FRANCIS. Give me leave, friend, to stay awhile. 
For here I am guarding the wants of three honest 
men, whose faces I do not know. 

1st robber. Say you so ? 'Tis want brings us 
here now. 

3rd robber. There was gold here. Master, which 
was ours. And we be seeking it. 

FRANCIS. Alas, Brothers, have you come back to 
be made poor ? 

1st robber. With that gold we shall be rich. 

FRANCIS. Last night ye were not so. For then, 
ye lost peace, and friendship, and understanding. 
Also ye lost heart. 

178 



SISTER GOLD 

8rd robber. How so. Master ? 

FRANCIS. And ran like sheep, having no friend 
but Fear ! See, then. Brothers, to what poverty 
gold brought you ! 

2nd robber. Sir, we ran because it was dark 
night, and because an angel spoke. But we have 
not to fear angels by day. 

FRANCIS. Alas, friend, then is your poverty yet 
greater ! For if ye fear not angels, ye fear not God ! 
And if ye fear not God, ye must needs fear the 
Devil, — ^which is the foulest fear any man can have ! 

3rd robber. Devil nor man do I fear ! 

FRANCIS. Brother, neither do I ! . . . But very 
greatly do I fear God. 

1st robber. Like enough we shall all fear God 
when we come to die. 

FRANCIS. As when ye be come to a gulf which ye 
cannot cross. Think you, friend, that you could 
leap over that tree ? 

1st robber. No, sir. 

FRANCIS. God is much taller than that tree. 
Brother. With His little finger He covereth the 
whole world ; and touching. He maketh the 
smallest thing to seem great. Last night, hearing 
a poor worm speak, you thought it was an angel, 
and ran away ! 

3rd robber, a worm ? 

FRANCIS. I was that worm. 

3rd robber. Oh ho ! What have you done, 
then, with our gold ? 

FRANCIS. Friend, I am sitting on it. . . . The 
worm has but to turn. There is your gold ! Oh 
come. Brothers, and look on Want ; for this is she ! 
179 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

2nd robber. Want ? What does he mean by 
Want? 

1st robber. Has he put a curse on it, think you ? 

3rd robber. If he has, it must come off again ! 
Here ! Stop prating. We want our gold ! 

FRANCIS. Well, Brothers, since the Devil hath 
robbed you of all wealth, make good use of the 
poverty that he hath left. Fare you well. 

2nd robber. Stay, Master ! 

FRANCIS. Well, friend ? . . . What is your will ? 

2nd robber. Look you. Master : there be the 
gold, and here be we three men, and I the littlest 
of them. Left so — what chance of my share 
have I ? 

1st robber. You '11 get your share, don't fear. 

3rd robber. As much as you are worth, and no 
more ! 

2nd robber. No, I won't ! And wasn't getting 
it last night, either ! 

3rd robber. Ye parrot-hatch, hold your tongue ! 

2nd robber. Share and share alike, it was to be ! 

3rd robber. And will be ! 

2nd robber. Then you stop and see it done. 
Master Friar ! Stop and see it done ! — Aye, he may 
be a fool, but he 's honest. So I say, let him judge, 
and give each man his portion — fair. 

3rd robber. You '11 be fair dead, when I 've done 
with you ! 

1st robber [nudging 3rd robber]. It 's all 
right ; let him do it ! You divide for us. Friar. 

FRANCIS. Very willingly. Brothers. Juniper, 
bring me the gold. 

JUNIPER. Heigho ! The Lord preserve us I 
180 



SISTER GOLD 

[juniper, piling it on the pouch that it came in, 
brings the gold to francis. 

FRANCIS. Are you not hungry, Brothers ? 

ROBBERS. Hungry ? We be hungry as ogres ! 

FRANCIS. Juniper, bring hither the basket. . . . 
Come forth. Brother Bread ! . . . Look, is he not 
fair ? . . . Brother Bread, see you these three 
hungry men ? They wish to be at one with you. 
Shall it be ? . . . And lo, after his manner. Brother 
Bread speaketh and, like our Blessed Lord, he 
divideth himself among all, giving alike to each. 
. . . Let us thank God, Brothers, that He hath sent 
bread into the world, to die so that we may live. 

[He distributes the bread. 

FRANCIS. Now, for this bread. Brothers, if you 
had it not, and so were near death, would you not 
give all the gold in the world ? 

1st robber. Surely we would. Master ! 

FRANCIS. See, then, how much more precious is 
bread than gold. . . . For no man can die for lack 
of gold. How came you. Brothers, by all this 
poverty ? Was it some man that did rob you ? 

2nd robber. Bob us ? 

1st robber. Rob us ? 

3rd robber. No, we weren't robbed. Master. 

2nd robber. This gold. Master, we found. 

1st robber. Buried in earth — ^put away out of 
use. 

3rd robber. So, was it not ours ? 

FRANCIS. If Sister Earth gave it to you. 

3rd robber. Oh, she made no cry about it. 

2nd robber. 'Twas the other did that. 

FRANCIS. What other ? 
181 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

2nd robber. Him that first put it there ! 'Twas 
his coming back made the trouble. 

1st robber. An old miser, Father. The gold 
was no good to him if he only went burying it ! 

3rd robber. Well, Friar, let us get on to business. 

1st robber. Right ! you divide for us. 

2nd robber. And all shares equal ! 

FRANCIS. I will divide it, then, into four portions. 

robbers. Four ! 

3rd robber. Wants a share for himself, does he ? 

1st robber. Means we 're to pay for the bread ! 

FRANCIS. Nay : Brother Bread seeks no pay- 
ment. 

3rd robber. Then, why four ? 

FRANCIS. Will you not give Sister Earth her share? 
You thought the old man foolish ; but he was wise. 
It is right to bury the dead. 

[This gives guilty consciences a shock, 

1st robber. He isn't dead, Master. 

3rd robber. I but gave him a knock or two, to 
make him lie quiet. And look you. Master, he wants 
to share equal [pointing to 2nd robber]. But I 
say — how much was he worth ? If one digs while 
another only looks on — ^how then ? And if one does 
all the fighting and another only looks on — how 
then ? Is he to have same as me ? — ^Not likely ! 

2nd robber. Hadn't some one to watch while you 
dug ? Hadn't some one to stop a man's mouth 
when he cried ' Murder ! ' Did you get your blamed 
finger bitten like me ? No fear ! 

FRANCIS. O Brothers, why have ye let Want 
come between you ? Ye have shared bread and are 
satisfied : but in sharing of this gold never can ye 
182 



SISTER GOLD 

have so much of it but ye will seek more. . . . O 
Brothers, will ye not take pity on Sister Gold ! 

1st robber. Why take pity, Master ? 

FRANCIS. For her sad plight. Brother. 

3rd robber. Good Lord ! here 's a lunatic for 
you. Why, what 's wrong with her ? 

FRANCIS. See how she lies naked, and cold, and 
in captivity. 

2nd robber. In captivity. Master ? 

FRANCIS. Surely, even as a fish, when you take it 
from the water which is its home ! Sister Gold loves 
to be under ground : likes quiet, darkness, and rest, 
with a good weight of earth to cover her. And of 
all that, man has deprived her. He has divided her 
into pieces, made a round thing of her, to toss, and 
spin, and dance ; and to be bartered for things that 
she has no use for, to be thrown away in lewd living, 
to be fought for, and have men's blood spilled over 
her fair body. . . . Are you not sorry for Sister Gold ? 

3rd robber [accommodatingly]. Master, you do 
make I to weep ! Never did I know what a m^elan- 
choly thing gold was till now. 

FRANCIS. Weep no more, friend ! Since now you 
can make her happy again. 

1st robber. We ? How ? 

FRANCIS. First you can cover her nakedness. 

2nd robber. How 's that done ? 

FRANCIS. Put her back into Mother Pouch. 

3rd robber. Who 's she ? 

FRANCIS [holding up the bag]. I do not know any 
other name for her ; but she has a large mouth, and 
long ears, and she is patient. 

3rd robber [laughing]. Friar, you be the biggest 
183 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

tom-fool I ever met. . . . Don't he make a chap 
laugh ? I haven't laughed like that since my old 
mother died. 

FRANCIS. You did well to be joyful then, friend. 
. . . Your mother went to God, did she not ? 

SUB ROBBER. So I trust. Father ! 

FRANCIS. But for tha-t journey took no gold with 
her? 

3rd robber. Nay, Master, she did not ! 

1st robber. Oh ! He got the old girl's stocking 
right enough ! 

FRANCIS. Yet she, without gold, made a better 
journey than you with gold : and came at last to a 
better inn. 

3rd robber. Maybe she did. Master. 

FRANCIS. And for that end you buried her ? 

3rd robber. Aye. 

FRANCIS. So now, if you bury Sister Gold, she 
likewise will find her way to God, doubt not. For 
the City of God is made of pure gold, very precious ; 
and it is still a-building. And this gold, given back 
to Him, will be to the making of those bright walls, 
and hereafter stand part of that gateway by which 
ye shall go in. 

JUNIPER. O Father, if ye talk like that, I '11 be 
getting a vision. Father ! Poor sinner that I am ! 

FRANCIS. Then, when you see her, you will say, 
' Hello ! Sister Gold, how did you come here ? ' 
And she will answer, ' Brother Robber, you sent me.' 

3rd robber. Robber, you say ? Nay, but you 
can't prove it ! You can't prove it ! 

FRANCIS. No, friend : neither can Sister Gold. 
So you will say to her, ' Sister Gold, whom have Z 
184 



SISTER GOLD 

robbed ? ' And if you have robbed no man, she will 
be dumb. So you will say further, 'There was a 
poor old miser burying gold in a lonely field ; and all 
his spirit was bowxd and broken with the care of it. 
And even as he dug he did sweat, and started, and 
trembled, looking to right and to left and behind 
him, so much was he afraid.' 

1st ROBBEii [scared]. Father ! How did you 
know that ? 

FRANCIS. Sister Gold has told me : also Mother 
Pouch. For at night when he slept, Mother Pouch 
lay under his head, and he had grey hair. 

3rd robber. Oh, my God ! you do frighten me ! 

FRANCIS. So to rid him of his fear, first you hit 
him over his grey head, and then took from him 
his gold. 

[This miracle of clairvoyance is too much for 
them : panic seizes upon all. 

ROBBERS [sharing the confession between them]. 
Yes, Father! That's true, Father! We didn't 
find it, we took it. Father ! Oh, what a holy terror 
is this man for the discovering of our sins ! 

JUNIPER. So you 've found that out, have you ? 

FRANCIS. And so you left him thinking of nothing 
but his head, which was far more precious to him 
than gold. 

3rd robber. Father ! must I be hanged for it ? 

FRANCIS. No, friend. But having wrought in him 
so good a work, do not ask to be paid for it. 

ROBBERS. We don't. Father, we don't ! We only 
ask to be let off this once. Father ! 

[The ROBBERS all kneel at the feet of francis. 
He rises. 

X85 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. O Brothers, look at the sun, for therein 
is Hfe ! This is the living gold which cometh 
down from heaven to give light to all. And lo, 
wherever it falleth upon earth, it worketh good ; it 
lifteth up, and giveth strength, and maketh rich ! 
Lo, upon thy face, also. Brother, lieth this gift, 
making thee comely to look upon ! And since 
Brother Sun hath made thee fair of face, shall not 
thy soul also shine fair in the eyes of God ? 

JUNIPER. I 'm going to see visions. Father ! I 'm 
not myself ! 

2nd robber. And you '11 not hang us. Master ? 

JUNIPER. Hang you ? What for should he be 
hanging the like of you, wasting good rope ? 

ROBBERS. Oh, we be sinners, Father, we be 
sinners ! We are very much afraid. 

FRANCIS. Do not be ! Here is Sister Gold. 
[He puts the bag of gold into the robbers' hands. 

1st robber. What are we to do with her ? . . . 
Nay, take her back. Father. Truly she is not ours. 

FRANCIS. Doubt not, if ye give Sister Gold 
Christian burial, she will pray for you. 

2nd robber. We bury her ? 

FRANCIS. See ! Here is good ground where she 
may rest in peace. 

1st robber. You mean — ^put her away, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Give her back to God, Brother. 

3rd robber. I think we be all fools ! But if you 
say so. Father, it must be right. 

FRANCIS. Which of you, then, will dig her grave ? 

1st robber. I '11 do that. Father. 

2nd robber. No, I. 

8rd robber. Keep off ! You leave it to me 1 
186 



SISTER GOLD 

[He pulls out his sheath-knife and starts digging. 

2nd robber. Don't you want help ? 

3rd robber. Aye. You can look on. 

[1st and 2nd robber help to shovel out the earth 
with their hands, 

FRANCIS. And to do this thing, not one of you is 
afraid ? 

1st robber. No, Father ! What for should we 
be afraid ? 

FRANCIS. When ye first went seeking it, ye feared 
every man ! 

2nd robber. Aye, that is true. 

JUNIPER. O Father, I 'm having visions, Father ! 
I can see our Lord riding into holy Jerusalem sitting 
on a milk-white ass, and three big blind donkeys 
following Him, and me at the tail end of 'em ; and 
never the stroke of a stick wanted to tell 'em where 
they are to go ! Oh, it 's a fair vision I 'm having. 
Father, and I see it all ! 

FRANCIS. Have your vision. Brother. Yet shall 
you see it better if you talk less. 

3rd robber. Will that do. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Yea, truly ! See how willingly Sister Earth 
made room in her breast ! Come, Brothers, there is 
Sister Gold. . . . She is in your hands ; be kind to her. 
[The ROBBERS, with contrite humility, lay the 
hag of gold in the ground. 
Now doth she enter into rest. Now is she at peace. 
Now is her face set toward the City of God. . . . 
Doubt not though ye give this poor mortal body to 
ground that ye shall see it hereafter arise in glory. 
. . . [The ROBBERS rise from their task.] So now. 
Brothers, thank God that hath made you rich. 
187 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

1st robber. This be a great wonder, Father ! 

JUNIPER. Aye, so ! And all the Brothers up there 
waiting breakfast, and wondering what has become 
of it. Shall I go. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Tarry awhile. Here comes more 
Hunger. 

Enter old miser, very feeble and tottering, 
with bandaged head. 

miser. O Father Friar, help, help ! Save me I 

FRANCIS. Art thou in fear. Brother ? 

MISER. Aye ! . . . Yes, I — I be mortally afraid. 

FRANCIS. Wherefor ? Art thou in sin ? 

MISER. In sin ? Nay, most foully have I been 
sinned against. Oh, the things that I have suffered 
this night ! . . . My gold, my gold, all my, gold is 
gone. 

FRANCIS. And thy wits also. Brother ! 

MISER. 'Twere no great wonder ; my skull being 
so drained of blood ! . . . Ten thieves set upon me. 
Father ; they beat me till I was black and blue ; 
they knocked out my senses. Then they took all 
my gold. . . . Oh, my gold ! 

FRANCIS. But they left thee thy life. Brother. 

MISER. What use is life when one has lost all ? 

FRANCIS. Friend, I am sorry for thee. \To the 
robbers] We are all sorry, are we not ? 

1st robber. We are, indeed. Father ! 

2nd robber. Sorry isn't the word ! 

3rd robber. My heart bleeds for him ! 

[With these compunctious but face-saving re- 
marks, the robbers do their best to meet an 
awkward situation. 

188 



SISTER GOLD 

JUNIPER. Ah, you 're a sad sight ! Here 's a bit 
of bread for you. 

\The old man takes it mechanically, but his 

attention is elsewhere, juniper approaches 

the embarrassed robbers. 

And here 's more bread for you three donkeys, for 

ye look hungry again ! . . . [Aside] You 'd better 

be off ! 

[But the ROBBERS, awkward squad though they be, 
are ready to face fire; and will take their march- 
ing orders only when francis gives the word. 
MISER. Who be these ? 

[The ROBBERS break bread, and pause each with 
a mouthful in hand. 
FRANCIS. Grave-diggers. 

MISER. Why, then, they should be honest men. 
FRANCIS. Do they not look honest ? 

[The ROBBERS precipitately fill their mouths with 
bread, the munching of which helps them to 
look innocent. 
MISER. I say nothing against it, Father, they being 
with you. . . . But oh, the thieves, the thick thieves 
there be in the world ! And all my gold gone ! 
JUNIPER. Ten thieves, did you say ? 
MISER. Aye, they had the weight of ten when they 
all fell on me. But there in the dark, less or more, 
how could one tell ? 

FRANCIS. Would you know them again. Brother ? 
[The ROBBERS again pause with mouthfuls of 
bread in their hands. 
MISER [vengefully]. Aye ! God helping me, I 
would ! I bit the foiger of one : him I would know ! 
[2nd robber puts his hand behind his back, 
189 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

One I heard speak ; his voice I should know ! 

[The ROBBERS again fill their mouths with bread. 
And one I should know by his smell ! 

[The ROBBERS, with their chances of escape thus 
diminished, turn supplicating eyes to francis. 
FRANCIS. Your head is bleeding. Brother. 
MISER. Aye, very like ! Though I have not much 
blood left. 

FRANCIS [to 3rd robber]. Bind up his wound, 
Brother. ... Be careful how you handle it ! 

[The 3rd robber goes braced to his task. For 
lack of a bandage he pulls up the tail of his 
shirt and tears it off. 
MISER. Ah, if I could but catch the man that did 
this ! O God, that I might find him ! 

[He begins nervously to break and crumble the 
bread he has in his hand. 
FRANCIS. You wish to pardon him. Brother ? 
MISER. / pardon him ? . . . I would put out his 
eyes ! I would flay the flesh off his bones ! I would 
hang him up by the heels till his head did rot ofi. 

[He utters a cry, for at that moment the bandaging 
causes him pain. 
3rd robber [meekly]. Your pardon. Brother. 
FRANCIS. Would you do so to all ten ? 
MISER. Aye : every mother's son of 'em ! 
FRANCIS. Perad venture there were found, friend, 
three of the ten that had repented. Wouldst thou 
not have mercy upon three ? 

MISER. Why should I have mercy on them that 
took all my gold ? Why should I . . . ? 

[The 3rd robber being short of bandage 
material, and failing to make it enough, is look- 
190 



SISTER GOLD 

ing about for more. The other two robbers 
pull up the tails of their shirts and offer what 
is requisite, 

2nd robber. Have a bit of bread, Gaffer, you '11 
feel better after it. [Offers it. 

MISER [feebly]. Shall I ? ... I don't know. I 
. . . Oh, how shall I live, having lost all my gold ! 

1st robber. Bread is worth more than gold. 
Master. 

miser. What does that gabbling fool say ? 

FRANCIS. He speaks as he knows. Brother. 

1st robber. Aye, look you ! for last night, Gaffer, 
I had as much gold under my hand as ever you had. 
But I gave it all up — for a bit of bread. 

miser. The more fool you ! 

FRANCIS. It was living bread. Brother. And 
having that, he shall not hunger again. . . . Go in 
peace. Brothers : for now is our Sister at rest since 
you have given her good burial. 

robbers. God bless you. Father ! 

FRANCIS. Brothers, God bless and keep you ! 

3rd robber [to juniper]. God keep you, Brother! 
[To the miser] And you, Master, from those ten 
robbers. 

[Exeunt the three robbers. 

JUNIPER. O Father, they be three great donkeys ; 
but our Lord hath put His mark upon their backs ! 

MISER. Burial, you say ? Whom have they been 
burying ? 

FRANCIS. One that was dead, men having so mis- 
handled her. Her name was Sister Gold. 

MISER. Gold ? . . . Gold ? 

FRANCIS. Even so. Brother. 
191 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

MISER. Whose gold ? 

FRANCIS. God's, Brother. To whom else can gold 
belong ? 

MISER. Where got they that gold ? Where got 
they that gold ? 

FRANCIS. In a field. Brother. There was an old 
man burying it, because he had no use for it, know- 
ing that it was dead. Then came others who knew 
it not ; so, thinking she was alive, they took her 
from him that buried her, and brought her hither. 
But seeing her in the light of day they found she was 
dead. 

MISER. What have they done with that gold ? 

FRANCIS. Given her back to God. 

MISER. Ah ! you mean that the Church has taken 
it ! She had no right to it. That gold was mine ! 

you friars and priests, you are all thieves like 
the rest of them ! Give it back, give it back to me, 

1 say ! 

FRANCIS. I have not taken your gold, Brother. 
MISER. Where is it, then ? 

FRANCIS. She is in peace, lying at rest in Mother 
Earth. Seek not to disturb her again. Did not 
you yourself put her there ? 

[The OLD MISER is up against a hard problem. 

FRANCIS knows where the gold is, and may not 

choose to divulge its whereabouts. It comes 

then to this : How is he to get such standing with 

the Friar that the knowledge may become his ? 

With mind busily catching at straws, he starts 

muttering to himself. 

MISER. My gold ! . . . Yes, yes, my gold. . . . 

Yes, I did put it there ; I . . . Yes, yes. I . . . 

192 



SISTER GOLD 

Father . . . you say that it is safe • . . that gold, 
Father ? 

FRANCIS. It is safe, Brother. 

MISER. Where does it He ? 

FRANCIS. In God's hands. 

MISER. Yes . . . but I . . . 

[He glances round suspiciously. 

FRANCIS. Art thou still afraid. Brother ? 

MISER. Of what ? 

FRANCIS. Of robbers. 

MISER. Why should I fear robbers, now that they 
have taken all my gold ? 

FRANCIS. Very true. Therefore thou art at 
peace with them. 

MISER. I ? 

FRANCIS. And she, that was thy sorrow, is at 
peace also. 

MISER. She ? 

FRANCIS. The robbers had pity on Sister Gold . . . 
and wilt thou be less kind to her than they ? Didst 
thou not love Sister Gold ? 

MISER. Yes, Father, yes ! Show me where she 
lies now ? 

FRANCIS. She was cold, and naked, and in bond- 
age, and the lust of men's eyes had shamed her. So 
in the fear and love of God they buried her. And 
now she is at peace. 

MISER. Father, you must be a marvellous holy 
man to talk like that ! ... At peace, you say ? 
Well, I . . . God forbid that I should seek to take 
away her peace ! . . . Let her rest, let her rest, as 
you say, Father ! . . . Yet I would like to know 
where you have buried her, so that I may come now 
N 193 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

and then and say a prayer upon her grave. . . . 
You wouldn't tell me, I suppose . . . you wouldn't 
tell me just where she ? 

FRANCIS. She lies here, Brother ; under this tree. 

JUNIPER. Ah ! now you 've done it, Father ! 

MISER. Here ! 

FRANCIS. Even so. Brother. 

MISER. What ? All here ? O God ! can it be 
true ? Yes ! for the ground 's been dug. I . . . 
Well, well, Father, God give her peace ! . . . And 
you too. Father, and you. Brother. . . . Yes, let 
her lie. Will you give your blessing, Father, to 
a poor man ? 

FRANCIS. The Lord bless you and keep you, 
Brother. 

The Lord make His face to shine upon you. 

The Lord lift up the light of His countenance 
upon you, and give you peace. 

JUNIPER. Are you going to say ' Amen ' ? 

MISER. Aye ! . . . Amen. . . . 

[Fixing his eyes on the spot, he pauses for a 
moment, then goes. 

JUNIPER. Father, did you believe that old man 
when he so readily forswore his gold ? 

FRANCIS. No, Brother ; but he believes me. 

JUNIPER. That his gold is buried here ? Why, so 
I think ! And as soon as your back is turned. 
Father 

FRANCIS. Yes, Brother. Hark, there is that bird 

again. ... Is it not wonderful. Brother, how men 

love fear ; and rather than be without it, will die ? 

[FRANCIS goes and stands under the tree. 

thou little Brother, that brimmest with full heart, 

194 



SISTER GOLD 

and having naught, possessest all, surely thou dost 
well to sing ! for thou hast life without labour, and 
beauty without burden, and riches without care. 
When thou wakest, lo, it is dav/n ; and when thou 
comest to sleep it is eve. And when thy two wings 
lie folded about thy heart, lo, there is rest. There- 
fore sing, Brother, having this great wealth, that 
when thou singest thou givest thy riches to all. . . . 
Come, let us go. Brother Juniper. You lead the 
way. . . . Farewell, little Brother ! Have no fear ! 
[juniper shoulders Ms basket and mounts the 

'path leading to the friary, francis passes 

into the wood. 

Re-enter the old miser, carrying a stake of wood. 
He starts and trembles, looking from right to 
left. He comes to the spot where the gold lies 
buried. 

MISER. . . . Father Fool, Father Fool, did you 
think to keep my gold from me ? {He starts digging.] 
No, you don't . . . no, no, you don't ! You don't ! 
You don't ! Ah, my gold, my beautiful gold, come 
to me ! Where art thou ? . . . 

[He reaches into the hole and draws out the bag 
of gold. FRANCIS, reappearing, stands behind 
him. 
Ah, there thou art ! My sweet, my sweet ! 
Welcome back to me again ! 

[He hugs the gold to his breast. 
FRANCIS. Welcome, Sister Fear ! 
MISER. Ah ! 

[Covering the bag under his coat, he starts back in 
an extremity of terror, and crouches trembling, 
195 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

expecting death, francis stands perfectly still 
behind him. Slowly he turns and looks. 

Father ! . . . Father ... I didn't mean ... to 

do it. Father . . . 

[FRANCIS stands, not regarding him, saying no- 
thing, listening to the bird. Presently the old 
man drops the bag back into the hole, and begins 
to shovel in the earth with his hands ; his breast 
is shaken with dry sobs. He works slowly at 
first, then with more and more feverish haste 
till the task is done. 

Father, give me your blessing ; . . .for I have 

sinned ! 

FRANCIS. The Lord bless you and keep you. 

Brother. 

The Lord make His face to shine upon you. 

The Lord lift up the light of His countenance 

upon you, and give you peace. 

[FRANCIS makes the sign of the Cross ; then 
turns and goes up the hill. The old man 
totters to his feet, the sun shines on his 
face. The look of fear goes out of his eyes. 
From the friary comes the sound of the 
' Angelus.' The old man crosses himself three 
times, kneels down and prays. You hear the 
first words, ' Ave Maria ' ; after that you only 
see the quick muttering of his lips. At 
' Sancta Maria ' he becomes audible again, but 
the rest is silence. When his lips cease to 
move the curtain falls. 



196 



BROTHER SUN 




Scene : The camp of the 
Saracens before Damietta, 
looking out eastward over the 
sands and lagoons. 

In a large circular tent, 
gorgeously hung with arras oj 
gold and scarlet, the Soldan 
sits enthroned on a high dais. 
Upon the steps to right and 
left, in order of rank, stand 
his Emirs and Councillors. 
Before the entrance are armed 
Soldiers and around the tent-walls Nubian Slaves and Arab 
Servants. Against the pole of the tent stands the Soldan's Sword- 
bearer. The door is wide open, revealing the red glare of an 
Eastern day now nearing its end. Before the Soldan stands the 
Captain of the Guard. 

SOLDAN. Two men, you say, Captain ? What 
like are they? 

CAPTAIN. Beggars, Soldan, to look upon : ragged, 
bare-foot, and very weary. 

SOLDAN. Whence come they ? 

CAPTAIN. From the camp of the Infidel — so they 
say. 

SOLDAN. Had they arms ? 

CAPTAIN. No, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. How came they in ? 

CAPTAIN. They were in our midst before we knew. 
Because the hand of Heaven seemed on them, our 
outposts had let them pass. 

SOLDAN. The hand of Heaven ? 
197 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

CAPTAIN. As being of those afflicted ones on whom 
Allah bids us have pity, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. Madmen ? 

CAPTAIN. Such I took them to be when first I saw 
them. But now, having questioned them, I am in 
doubt. 

SOLDAN. Wherefor ? 

CAPTAIN. Because, though their speech is sane, 
what they do is contrary. 

SOLDAN. Aye ? How ? 

CAPTAIN. They seem to make mock of us, Soldan ; 
and of the peril they stand in. When I warned 
them of death they did but smile ; when we used 
them roughly, they seemed grateful to us ; when we 
put chains on them they laughed and sang. Some 
say they be magicians, Soldan, and would have no 
dealings with them. 

SOLDAN. Said they for what cause they came ? 

CAPTAIN. To bring thee peace, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. Peace ? Are they ambassadors ? 

CAPTAIN. I know not, Soldan. Their message, 
they said, was for thee. 

SOLDAN. Well, I will see for myself. Bring them in. 
[The CAPTAIN goes, followed by his Guard. The 
Emirs and Councillors show perturbation. 

COUNCILLOR. O Soldan, is it forgiven if now we 
speak ? 

SOLDAN. Speak, any who will. 

COUNCILLOR. Have a care, dread King ! For 
though these men be not armed, they may have 
power of evil. 

SOLDAN. Very like. Has not the Most High 
commanded us to fight evil ? 
198 



BROTHER SUN 

COUNCILLOR. But these having no arms, Soldan, 
how canst thou fight them ? 

SOLDAN. How can they fight us ? 
COUNCILLOR. By evil enchantments, Soldan. 
SOLDAN. And have we none wiser that can with- 
stand them ? See to it. To your charge I commit 
me. Do ye your ofiice, while I do mine. 

COUNCILLOR. Commander of the Faithful, it shall 
be done. 

[One of the Comicillors, taking from his finger a 
ring, threads it upon a red cord ; the cord is 
drawn across the front of the dais, the ring 
suspended upon it during the scene that follows. 
A sound of chains is heard, and the tread of the 
Guard approaching. The voice of the captain 
outside cries ' Halt ! ' The captain enters, 
CAPTAIN. The prisoners are here, Soldan. 
SOLDAN. Bring them. 

[FRANCIS and brother illuminato are brought 
in, and kept closely guarded at a safe and 
respectful distance from the soldan's person. 
Who art thou ? 

FRANCIS. Thy lover and servant, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. Who is this with thee ? 

FRANCIS. He also is thy lover and servant, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. Whence come ye ? 

FRANCIS. From the Camp of thine enemy. 

SOLDAN. Of whom, also, ye are ? 

FRANCIS. We are of the same race, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. WTberefor, then, come ye here ? 

FRANCIS. To set thee free, O King. 

SOLDAN. From whom ? 

FRANCIS. From fear. 

199 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

SOLD AN. Fear ? I fear no man. 
FRANCIS. Thou bear est arms, Soldan. He that is 
without fear bears none. 

SOLDAN. Why then, in the Camp of the Christians 
also there is fear ! 

FRANCIS. Aye. Very greatly they fear thee, 
Soldan. 

SOLDAN. They do well. 

FRANCIS. They would do better if they did not 
fear thee. 

SOLDAN. Dost not thou fear me ? 
FRANCIS. No, Soldan. 

[This causes no little stir among the Emirs and 
Councillors. The Swordsman's hand in- 
stinctively takes a better grip on his weapon, as 
with sidelong glance he waits the word of 
command. 
SOLDAN. Come ! What art thou here for ? 
FRANCIS. To take thy chains from thee. 
SOLDAN. I have no chains. 
FRANCIS. O Soldan, are not these thy chains ? 
SOLDAN [grimly amused]. Aye : but thou wearest 
them. 

FRANCIS. He that putteth chains upon others is 
chained also. 

[A murmur of angry astonishment comes from 
the assembled Councillors. 
AN EMIR. When is this man to die, Soldan ? 
SOLDAN. Not at thy bidding. Emir. At mine. 
COUNCILLORS [in a fierce whisper of impatience]. 
Aye ! 

SOLDAN. Come hither ! 

[The Guard bring francis to the foot of the dais, 
200 



BROTHER SUN 

I said not ' bring him hither.' Stand back ! 

[The Guard fall back. The sold an comes down 
from his throne, takes hold of the fetters, and 
weighs them in his hand. 
So these are my chains that thou wearest ? 
FRANCIS. Very wilHngly, Soldan. 
soiLBAN [sarcastically]. I thank thee. . . . Think- 
est thou that I am in fear of thee ? 

[FRANCIS looks from soldan to suspended ring 
and back again ; and there is a suspicion of 
amusement in his tone as he answers. 
FRANCIS. I know not, Soldan. 

[The SOLDAN snaps the thread. The ring falls. 
FRANCIS stoops, picks up the ring, and hands it 

to the SOLDAN. 

COUNCILLOR. Beware, Soldan ! 
SOLDAN [returning to his place]. Take from him 
his chains : his also. 

[The chains upon francis and brother illu- 
MiNATO are struck off. 
Stand away ! Do not hold them ! . . . Prisoner, 
. . . where are my chains now ? 

FRANCIS. Upon thy heart, Soldan ; yea, and upon 

thy soul. To us thou hast been gentle and gracious ; 

but not unto thyself. For though thou givest freedom 

to others, to thine own self thou art yet a prisoner. 

[The SOLDAN lays by the talisman he has been 

holding. 

SOLDAN. And from this prison wherein I am, — 

who shall set me free ? 

FRANCIS. Thou Prince of Majesty, holder of power 
and glory, give thyself into my hand, and I will lead 
thee. 

201 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

SOLD AN. Whither ? 

FRANCIS. To thy Lord and my Lord which died 
for us. 

SOLD AN. My Lord, thou say est ! 
FRANCIS. Aye; for though thou see it not. His 
Light is already in thee. This is the Light which 
Hghteneth every man that cometh into the world. 
SOLD AN. And thou, also, art a Christian ? 
FRANCIS. God knows I would I were worthy to be 
called so. 

SOLD AN. Is the way, then, so hard ? 
FRANCIS. Nay ; but most sweet, and easy, and 
comforting. And yet I stray ! 

\There is a pause : outside the light of day begins 
to fail. 
SOLD AN. How wouldst thou make me — a Christian? 
FRANCIS. I would show thcc Christ, Soldan. Or, 
if by that name thou know Him not, then by His 
other name which is Love, wherein also dwell Joy 
and Peace. This have I come — to show. 
SOLDAN. Yea : speak ! 
FRANCIS. Oh, hearken, for this is wonder ! 
Light looked down and beheld Darkness. 
' Thither will I go,' said Light. 
Peace looked down and beheld war. 
' Thither will I go,' said Peace. 
Love looked down and beheld Hatred. 
' Thither will I go,' said Love. 
So came Light, and shone. 
So came Peace, and gave rest. 
So came Love, and brought Life. 
And the Word was made Flesh, and dwelt 
among us. 

202 



BROTHER SUN 

Then was He betrayed, and given up into the 
hands of sinful men : Light to the darkness of 
Death, Peace unto the pains of Hell, Love to the 
separation of the grave. And because the power of 
Evil prevailed not against Him, these henceforth 
He holdeth, and they are His. So out of Darkness 
He wrought Light, and Peace out of the pains of 
Hell, and out of the prison-house of Death He 
bringeth us Life Eternal. 

SOLDAN. Knowest thou this of thyself ? or did 
others tell it thee ? 

FRANCIS. O Soldan, were it not true, wouldst thou 
not already have slain me ? 

SOLDAN. I may slay thee yet, prisoner : for I have 
not let thee go. 

FRANCIS. What I have spoken thou hast heard. 
How wilt thou fear me less when I am dead ? 

SOLDAN. I . . . fear thee ? 

FRANCIS. When I am dead, Soldan, thou wilt 
remember me. 

SOLDAN. Go on, prisoner. Say what thou hast 
to say, while yet there is time. 

[It begins to get dark. 

FRANCIS. Soldan, as I came hither, there met me 
in the way a great army of ants, — ^many thousands 
of them, ail hither and thither running without rest. 
What was their toil, whose word they obeyed, I 
could not tell ; but they were all very full of it — in 
a world of their own. So I stood and looked at 
them ; but though very plainly I saw them, they 
saw not me. I was nothing to them. Yet, had I 
so wished, I could have killed every one of them. 

SOLDAN. Wherefor dost thou tell me this ? 
203 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Because thou art a great king, Soldan, 
and I am in thy power ; and which of us is to die 
first — ^thou or I — ^we know not. But God, Whom we 
see not, knows. 

SOLDAN. Which is to die first ? 

FRANCIS. Aye. 

SOLDAN. Knowest thou not ? 

FRANCIS. No, Soldan : nor dost thou. For thou 
art in His hands, even as I am ; and He careth for 
both ahke, having for each of us the same compassion. 

SOLDAN. As thou also for the ants ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, Soldan. And they may have had 
kings among them, — ^j^et I could not tell which was 
their king, — ^they being all so much alike — even as 
we are. 

SOLDAN [to an Attendant]. Slave, bring in the 
lamps. . . . Thou and I alike, dost thou say ? 

FRANCIS. In the eyes of God, Soldan ; aye, and of 
men also. For look ! — ^thou hast hands, and feet, 
and so have I : and on each hand five fingers, and to 
each finger three joints ; and at the end are nails. 
So also our bodies, — search as thou wilt, we are made 
alike. Also what thou seest, I see ; and what thou 
hearest, I hear. In all these things we are alike, 
Soldan, because God has so willed Who made us. 
[Lights are brought in ; over the soldan's throne 
is set a lamp. Round the wall stand Torch- 
bearers. The outer air goes dark. 

SOLDAN. That is true. Stand near, Brother Ant I 
I would look on thee, and see more of that likeness 
to myself whereof thou speakest. . . . Aye ; thou 
hast a face and eyes, which now see ; thou hast 
limbs, and there is blood in them ; thou hast flesh 
204 



BROTHER SUN 

that can feel pain ; and thou hast a head and a 
neck, even as I have. But for all we be so much alike, 
hast thou power to do presently what I shall do ? 

FRANCIS. No, Soldan. Many things thou canst 
do which I cannot. 

SOLDAN. Whence comes that ? 

FRANCIS. From God, Soldan : not from thy feet, 
nor thy hands, nor thy head. That which a man 
does comes from his heart. 

SOLDAN. Truly said. 

FRANCIS. And thy heart and mine are two, not 
one. We be fellow men, but separate ; we look 
upon each other as strangers. But it is not so that 
God sees. For we see each with a difference ; but 
He, looking within, sees we are alike. 

SOLDAN. How alike ? 

FRANCIS. In heart we are alike, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. Canst thou be sure of that ? 

FRANCIS. Since God made us to the same end, 
that we might serve Him. 

SOLDAN. I serve not thy God, Christian ! 

FRANCIS. Many do serve Him, not knowing. 

SOLDAN. The service which I do is — different. 

FRANCIS. Many wait on thee, Soldan, whose services 
are different. But for each there is a place, and all 
labour to one end. So thou and I, — serving God. 

SOLDAN. What if I serve God by slaying thee ? 

FRANCIS. Even so as, when good servants are 
hasty, platters get broken. Yet if thou break this 
poor platter, God shall pardon thee ; and thou wilt 
still serve Him, though how I know not. 

SOLDAN. And what says the platter, when it is 
broken ? 

205 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. I am willing to be broken, great King, 
if it make thee more careful of others. Many hast 
thou broken, and little good has it done thee. 
Peace comes not yet ; and all thy breakings shall 
not bring it thee. 

SOLDAN. Swordsman, draw ! 

[The Swordsman draws his sword, and stands 
ready. 

Emirs, Councillors, Judges, Servants of the 
Prophet, ye have heard this man and what he saith. 
How say ye ? Is he innocent or guilty ? 

ALL. Guilty, O King. 

SOLDAN. Unto what penalty ? 

ALL. Death. 

SOLDAN. His offence ? 

COUNCILLOR. Great Soldan, this man is a dog and a 
blasphemer. Against thee. Sword of the Prophet, he 
hath said evil things, denying thy kingship and power. 
Also against our holy faith he hath spoken falsely. 

SOLDAN. What saith the Prophet concerning him? 

COUNCILLOR. That all Infidels must perish. 

SOLDAN. Even so, let it be. Swordsman, hither. 
Have ready thy sword. Make the prisoner to kneel 
down. 

[FRANCIS kneels, brother illuminato kneels 
also, looking toward francis with a face full of 

joy- 
Brother Ant, I have heard thee. Hast thou said 
all thou wouldst say ? ... If not, now speak ! 

FRANCIS. O Soldan, while I have breath needs 

must I plead. For I have short life, and little 

wisdom, and my tongue is feeble. But He, whose 

messenger I am, is almighty, and infinite, and 

206 



BROTHER SUN 

eternal ; and His glory is not as the glory of kings, 
— ^being without end. So, if I begin to tell of it, 
how may I finish ? 

SOLDAN [pointing to an hour-glass beside him, the 
sands of which are nearly run], A little time I yet 
give thee. While the sands in this glass still run, 
speak on ! 

FRANCIS [stretching out his arms]. As the sun be 
the King's reign ! The wisdom of God be thy rule : 
the love of God thy possession : the Peace of God, 
which passeth all understanding, be with thee, 
Soldan, when thou also comest to die ! 

SOLDAN [to the Swordsman]. Man, put up thy 
sword ! Loose him : and go ! Take with you that 
other prisoner : do no harm to him. Councillors 
and Judges, what I do now, I do of myself. Go, 
all of you ! 

[They all go out. The soldan remains seated, 
with FRANCIS kneeling before him. 

Brother, come hither. ... Sit near me. . . . 
Through all the world I have sought thee. Now, in 
the Camp of mine enemy, I find thee ! Oh, where - 
for didst thou come ? 

FRANCIS. To be thy lover and servant, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. That is well : I have great need of thee. 
In my service thou shalt have power, and riches, 
and great honour ; for I will exalt thee, and make 
thee a ruler ; also thou shalt be taught the truths 
of our holy faith, and become a believer. 

FRANCIS. That cannot be, Soldan. Power is of 

God, not of kings. Serving all, I rule none, and 

naught have I of possessions save Poverty. . . . 

Disband thine armies, Soldan. Fight not against 

207 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

the living God. Sheath thy sword, and possess thy 
land in peace. 

SOLD AN. Peace ? Who offers peace ? 
FRANCIS. He against whom thou fightest, Soldan. 
SOLDAN. 'Tis of thy God thou speakest ? Say 
then : [he rises] and speak truth ! If I seek Him 
in the Camp of mine enemies — shall I find Him ? 
[FRANCIS hows his head, for it is a question he 
dares not answer. 
FRANCIS. Seek Him in thine own heart, Soldan. 
There shalt thou find peace. 

SOLDAN. Thou hast answered well. . . . And yet 
thou art still one of them ! 

FRANCIS. I came to them a traveller from my own 
land, Soldan. 

SOLDAN. To fight for them ? 
FRANCIS. Aye : even as I have fought for thee, 
saying the same words : ' Disband your armies ; 
fight not against God ; sheath your sword ; go 
back to your own land in peace.' 
SOLDAN. And they ? 

FRANCIS. They were like the ants, Soldan — ^very 
full of themselves. 

SOLDAN. Not heeding thee ? 
FRANCIS. No man can heed that which he sees 
not — ^neither with eyes nor with heart. 

SOLDAN [with a touch of the visionary]. What, 
then, have / seen ? . . . Nay, I know not. Yet to 
my ears hath come a voice. 

[The torches and the Torchbearers have gone ; 

and the only light now in the tent is the lamp 

which burns above the dais, soldan sits in 

thought ; and for a while there is silence. 

208 



BROTHER SUN 

Presently, as the voice of his reverie, francis 
begins speaking. 
FRANCIS. Look, Soldan, how bright in this tent 
shines the Hght ! See, on walls, and roof, and 
armour, and jewels, how it glitters. But yonder at 
the door stands night, and thou seest naught of it, — 
neither the beauty, nor the spaces of heaven which 
lie over it, nor the stars which are contained there. 
Because this light has made a covering to thine eyes, 
therefore do the heavens look dark. 

[FRANCIS has risen, and stands looking out into 
the night. 
O Soldan, in thine own heart seek wisdom ! The 
flame of Kingship and power is brief, and short- 
reaching, and by a breath it is put out. And with 
it shall depart the honour and fear and obedience and 
service which men render thee. These go, but thou 
remainest. Then, as a sleeper, that awakens when 
the lamp in his chamber is quenched, sees the door 
(which was darkness) changed to a window of light, 
and with his eyes searches the night, beholding the 
great spaces of heaven, and the stars that are hung 
in it, so in that day shalt thou see the standing of 
thy soul, and the home of thy inheritance to which 
thou travellest. 

\The SOLDAN has risen, and coming down from 
the dais, he stands beside francis. 
God is great, and infinite, and full of compassion. 
Thou art but a little thing : yet in His hand He 
holdeth and loveth thee. O Soldan, in that day 
of thine awakening, remember me, thy little lover 
and servant, and pray for me ! 

SOLDAN {drawing him to the light]. Come; aye, 
o 209 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

closer ; for again would I look upon thy face, and 
know more of thee. . . . \They stand eye to eye under 
the lamp, silent awhile.'] Well said, Brother Ant. 
When I come to die, I shall remember thee. 

[He mounts the dais, strikes a hell, and puts out 

the lamp. The night grows luminous without. 

Presently in the doorway two Attendants are 

seen standing motionless. 

There is thy road : there is thy star, and thy 

heaven ! Go, thou art freer than I. Alas, that in 

my Kingdom never shall I see thee again. 

FRANCIS. In the Kingdom of God, Brother, I pray 
that I shall see thee. 

SOLDAN. There, when thou comest, look for me 
in thine own heart. If thou find me, there shall I be. 
FRANCIS. Amen, Soldan. So — if God will ! 
SOLDAN. Take this signet, show it to the Captain 
of the Guard. Let him give command that thou 
and thy companion return in safety — ^to the Camp 
of mine enemy. 

FRANCIS. Alas, then, for peace have I failed ! 
SOLDAN. Who knows ! . . . Farewell, Brother Ant. 
FRANCIS. Farewell, great and gracious King, 
Brother-servant of my Lord ! 

[FRANCIS goes out, followed, at a signal from 
the SOLDAN, by the two Attendants. The 
SOLDAN stands looking after him. 
SOLDAN. Farewell, Brother Sun. 

[From outside comes the cry of the Muezzin 
calling the faithful to prayer : ' There is one 
God, Allah, and Mahomet is his Prophet ! ' 
The SOLDAN hares his feet, stands looking 
toward Mecca, and prays. The cuutain falls. 
210 



PART III 
THE FINDING 



THE CHAPTER. 
BROTHER JUNIPER. 
BROTHER ELIAS. 



THE SERAPHIC VISION. 
BROTHER SIN. 
SISTER DEATH. 



THE CHAPTER 



A.D. 1221 




It is late spring; and on a 
hill slope under the walls 
of Assisi the Chapter of the 
Brotherhood is being held. So 
great a concourse cannot all 
he seen at once ; but here are 
the front ranks seated in 
rows upon the ground, with 
some sort of a bench to either 
side for the aged and infirm. 
Facing the assembled multi- 
tude, ranged tier above tier 
along the rising ground, stands a rough table-like platform, 
approached at one end by a slope of steps. There on a low stool 
sits Brother Matteo^ presiding, with two others (Jerome and 
Simon) his assistants, squatting to right and left of him. In front 
of him, on the platform, stands a big basket, for the present with 
nothing in it. 

Shading the platform, and extending its shelter over the first 
few rows of the congregation, rough poles support a roof of woven 
boughs, thick with leaf. And thus, without pomp or circumstance, 
the family-gathering has come together for the ordering of its 
affairs. It is the last time that such circumstances will prevail: 
but very few know it; and the squatted Brethren are greatly 
enjoying themselves, singing, while voting goes on, a psalm which, 
in Latin, they appear to know by heart — a sign that book-learning 
{the beginning of the end) has already taken hold of them, while 
Brother Francis has been away on his vain mission to make 
peace in Palestine. 

But it is all being so joyously done that you would scarcely guess 
how order and ceremony are here beginning to find place. One of 
the Brothers^ standing as precentor, before the platform, beats 
time with a bough of white blossom — perhaps because now is the 
season of Whitsuntide ; and some of the Brothers, with smaller 
boughs of their own, wave back to him. Others with leathern 
pouches pass up and down the rows collecting the wooden tallies on 
213 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

which the votes have been recorded. They go briskly about it, for 
the chanting, antiphonal and quick in point, seems to be running 
them a race. And here, in another language, are some of the words 
which, from the zest of their utterance, seem most to voice the 
sense of the meeting. 

He covereth the heaven with clouds : He pre- 
pareth rain for the earth : He maketh grass to grow 
upon the mountains. 

He giveth food unto the cattle. He feedeth the 
young ravens which call upon Him. 

He hath no pleasure in the strength of an horse, 
neither delighteth He in any man's legs. 

Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem : praise thy God, 
O Zion. For He hath strengthened the bars of thy 
gates : He hath blessed thy children within thee. 
He maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee 
with the flour of wheat. 

He sendeth forth His commandments upon earth : 
His word runneth very swiftly. 

He sheweth His word unto Jacob, His statutes 
and ordinances unto Israel. 

He hath not dealt so with any nation : neither 
have the heathen knowledge of His laws. 

[The ' Gloria ' follows ; all rise to their feet. 
Having sung it, they sit down again. The 
Brothers, carrying the leathern pouches, ad- 
vance and empty them into the big basket which 
stands in front 0/ brother matted. 
MATTED. The votes are all here. Brothers. Is it 
your will that we count them ? 
ALL [except one]. Aye ! 

MATTED. Is it any Brother's will that we do not 
count them ? 

214 



THE CHAPTER 

JUNIPER [not loud enough for brother matteo to 
hear him]. Aye : but I daren't say so. 

[brother GILES and brother pacifico, who 
share the quiet corner he has found for himself, 
turn and look at him with puzzled eyes. 
MATTEO. Brother Jerome, Brother Simon, and 
Brother Anthony will count them. 

[A bench is brought and set to the front of the 
platform, brother jerome and brother 
SIMON descend from their places, brother 
ANTHONY joins them, and the three, using the 
platform as a table, empty the tallies from the 
basket, and begin counting. 
MATTEO. While the votes are counting, Brothers, 
we will eat bread. 

[Enter Brothers, bearing baskets of bread which they 
distribute. A pleasant babble of voices begins : 
The Brothers move freely from place to place talk- 
ing to each other, brother matteo stands for 
a while searching among the faces before him for 
one that is missing. 
MATTEO. Where is Brother Francis ? 

[A voice from behind the platform causes him to 
look around. 
FRANCIS. I am here. Brother dear. 
MATTEO. Why, what are you doing there ? 
FRANCIS [half whispering]. I was asleep. Brother. 
[brother MATTEO, shaking his head at him, gets 
down from his perch. They pass into the 
crowd, and for a time we see no more of them. 
A brother. Brother Elias, many are seeking thee. 
[elias, a little consequential with the sense of his 
coming importance, passes into the crowd. 
215 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

The bread-carriers come by : giles, juniper, 
and PACiFico take and begin eating. 

GILES. Brother Juniper, why did you not wish 
the votes counted ? 

JUNIPER. Because all they that voted be fools. 

PACIFICO. Did not you vote. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. Aye. 

PACIFICO. Then you were a fool like the rest, 
Brother. 

JUNIPER. Did you ever know me wise ? 

GILES. Sometimes I have suspected it. Brother, 
tell us, now : whom did you vote for ? 

JUNIPER. The little Father, of course. Who else? 

PACIFICO. Who else ? When we are all here to 
choose another in the place of him ! 

JUNIPER. There is no other. You cannot change 
the father that once begot you. 

GILES. He will still be our father, Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Notif Brother Elias knows it, he won't be. 

PACIFICO. Why Brother Elias ? I voted for 
Brother Elias. 

JUNIPER. Ah ! you 're one of them ! Brother 
Giles didn't, I 'm thinking. 

GILES. I voted for you, Juniper. 

[brother pacifico's face of eloquent astonish- 
ment at finding himself seated between two 
such fools is not to be conveyed in words. 

JUNIPER. Ah, if they chose me that would settle it. 

PACIFICO. How, Brother ? 

JUNIPER. I 'd tell the little Father, on holy 
obedience, to come back again. 

PACIFICO. But he himself has said. Brother, that 
the charge is too much for him. 
216 



THE CHAPTER 

JUNIPER. 'Tis we, then, that have made it so. 
While his back was turned they 've been shaping 
out new rules for us that were none of his making. 
I know it well : for I can't put down a foot now, 
but what I break one. Father Francis broke one 
himself the other day ! . . . No matter. 

PACiFico [horrified]. Did he. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. Aye : the Lord bless it to him ! 

GILES. What rule did he break. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. Atemeat onaMonday. Why shouldn't 
he ? A beggar gave it him. Are we to refuse 
charity because of the rules ? 

PACIFICO. If it be for holy obedience. Brother — 
we must. 

JUNIPER. Obedience ? If they tell you to bite 
on a bad tooth, must you do it ? 

GILES. Brother, Brother ! 

JUNIPER. Yes, but it 's true. Brother dear. I 've 
done so many sins in the last week, without knowing 
it, that I '11 never overtake myself. And then 
Father Francis came back, and I thought — ' Oh, 
here 's a chance for me ! ' And now what does he 
do but tell us we 've got to be orphans still — like 
we were all the year he 's been away. . . . Did you 
see him sitting asleep just now ? He 's worn out. 

GILES. He has had many things to do. Brother. 

JUNIPER. Aye, and more they won't let him do ! 
That 's what 's going to break his heart for him. 

PACIFICO. Break his heart, you say ? 

GILES [rising and laying his hand on juniper's 
head]. On holy obedience, I charge thee to talk 
less. Juniper. [giles moves away. 

JUNIPER. There ! I 've put my foot in it again. 
217 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PACiFico. ' Break his heart ! ' What did you 
mean. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. Nothing. ... I meant nothing. I 'm 
a thing that 's got no meaning in me. A fool ! 
Go and talk to somebody that 's wise. You 're 
biting on a bad tooth if you talk to me. 

PACIFICO [delicately offended.] Very well. Brother, 
I will leave you. 

[juniper, left to himself, becomes eloquent of his 
grief 
JUNIPER. O Lord, what am I going to do with 
myself ? If they 'd cook me and eat me, I 'd be 
useful to 'em for one day at any rate. But I 'm 
like a cart, off its wheels and stuck in a rut, and in 
the way just ! 

[While thus he bewails himself francis comes 
from a group behind, sights him, and sits 
down by his side. 
FRANCIS. Brother Juniper ? 

[juniper at once forgets his own grief and is all 
tenderness. 
JUNIPER. Father dear, are you tired. Father ? 
FRANCIS. Brother Ass is tired. Not I. 
JUNIPER. Let me stroke him for you. Father. 
Eh, the dear beast that 's always done his best for 
us ! Rub his legs — or his back ; shall I, Father ? 
FRANCIS. No, Juniper. Only talk to me. 
JUNIPER. Talk to ye ? Father, how is it that 
whenever you look as if you were going to cry, you 
come and make me talk to you ? 

FRANCIS. So that I may laugh. Brother. 
JUNIPER. Ah ! I 'm a fool, I know. Did God 
send fools into the world so as to make men laugh ? 
218 



THE CHAPTER 

FRANCIS. Very likely. Brother. Why not ? 

JUNIPER. Does He laugh Himself, Father ? 

FRANCIS. He may well laugh at thee. Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Eh ! That 's a mighty great honour ! 

FRANCIS. Yes. 

JUNIPER. Being a fool 's a great thing, if God finds 
a use for it. 

FRANCIS. Aye, truly ! [Then in a deeply moved 
tone] Dear fool, lay thy hand on me ! 

[juniper does so with great reverence and 
tenderness, 

JUNIPER. O Father ! You 're not going to cry, 
are you ? 

FRANCIS. No, Brother ; I am going to laugh. 

JUNIPER [rather as a secret, but hoping it may cheer 
him]. I voted for you. Father ; though, maybe, 
I was the only one that did. 

FRANCIS. Thou child of Folly, what didst thou 
do that for ? 

JUNIPER. Like you put yeast into the dough to 
make it rise. A little goes a long way. And if 
'twas God counted our votes. He 'd make them all 
count, wouldn't He, Father ? — ^mine as well as the 
rest : else why was I voting ? 

FRANCIS. Very true, Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Am I talking foolishness. Father ? 

FRANCIS. No, Brother. 

JUNIPER. But you wouldn't have me be wise ? 

FRANCIS. I would have thee be thyself. Juniper. 
Wise or unwise, thou art ever a thing of wonder. 

JUNIPER. Am I, Father ? Then 'tis all thy doing. 
Sure, I 've lost myself. 

[brother LEO approaches : stands looking at 
219 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

them, then says diffidently, lest he should be 
intruding, 
LEO. Brothers — ^may I sit with you. 
FRANCIS. Come, Brother Leo, come ! 

[He makes room for him, and leo sits down, 
taking hold of the little Father's sleeve and 
holding it. francis turns back to juniper. 
Lost thyself ? How ? 

JUNIPER. Like a fish on a hook. Father. It 's 
Hke this : for all I 'd so little sense to begin on, 
I 'd enough left in me to know what a fool I was. 
But now there 's no beginning and no end to it. 
[He sighs, pauses, then adds] Once I used to be 
afraid. 

FRANCIS. Of what. Brother ? 
JUNIPER [at a loss where to begin]. Oh, — of the 
dark. Father, and hunger, and cold, and robbers, 
and murderers, and riches. Father. All the things 
that every one 's afraid of, if they 've got the sense 
for it. And now I 'm such a fool, I 'm not afraid 
of anything — except of Brother Elias. 
FRANCIS. Why of him. Juniper ? 
JUNIPER [after thinking awhile]. He 's so holy, 
Father ! 

FRANCIS. Learn to love him. Juniper ; then you 
will cease to fear him. 

JUNIPER [pensively]. I know that. Father. 

[There is silence for a while; leo has taken 

Francis's hand, and sits holding it, sad of 

spirit. 

FRANCIS. What art thou thinking now. Juniper ? 

JUNIPER [emerging from his reflections]. Father, 

dear, ... I used to be afraid of women. And 

220 



THE CHAPTER 

wasn't it right ? Brother EHas said Mother Church 

told us to be. But now I 'm not. Father ; I 'm 

not. Oughtn't that to make me ashamed of myself ? 

[brother GILES comes and sits down by them, 

FRANCIS. If thou canst live without fear. Brother, 
thou art the better for it. 

JUNIPER [doubtfully]. It 's a sense gone. Father. 

FRANCIS. Very true. And had we fewer senses 
we might come quicker to Heaven. 

JUNIPER. But if we lost them all. Father, — 
we 'd not be ourselves, then. 

FRANCIS. Again thou speakest wisdom. Juniper. 
What has made thee so wise to-day ? 

JUNIPER. I 'm not myself, Father. Something 's 
happened. I 'm got like the devils that went into 
the pigs and made them kill themselves. 

FRANCIS. Why, what now. Juniper ? 

JUNIPER. They 've caught it off me. 

FRANCIS. Who ? 

JUNIPER. All of 'em. And now I '11 be no use 
to anybody — except you, Father, and maybe one 
or two like you. [He almost weeps at the thought. 

FRANCIS. Come, Juniper ! What is thy trouble ? 

JUNIPER. It 's like this. Father ; when I first 
came, you took me because I was a fool, didn't you ? 

FRANCIS. Very likely. It was a good reason. 

JUNIPER. And because I was no use to any one. 

FRANCIS. Not if they used thee ill. But the 
Brothers have used thee well. . . . Have they not ? 

JUNIPER. They 've used me up, Father. They 've 
all become fools like me. I 'm no use to fools. 
They can't laugh at me. 

FRANCIS. They will laugh at thee, Juniper : even so. 
221 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER [wistfully]. Will they, Father ? 

FRANCIS. For thy foolishness is so great, that 
foolish and wise alike laugh at thee. And none 
shall ever be like thee. Juniper, try how they may. 

JUNIPER. Is that true, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Most true. Juniper. 

GILES and LEO. It is. Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Oh, praise the Lord for that ! 

FRANCIS. So we do. Teach us to be fools like 
thee, Juniper, and thou wilt do well. 

JUNIPER [much relieved]. Oh, well ! — so long as 
they are catching it the right way, / don't mind. 
But you '11 never have Brother Elias thanking God 
for me — not like you. 

FRANCIS. Who knows. Brother ? I have seen 
even greater marvels. 

JUNIPER. Brother Elias wouldn't believe you. 
. . . What are you laughing at. Father ? 

FRANCIS [who was only smiling]. Because to-day 
I did well. 

JUNIPER. That 's no news. What did you do ? 

FRANCIS. I voted for thee. Juniper. 

LEO. So did I, Brother. 

GILES. And I, as I told thee. 

[FRANCIS, LEO, and GILES sit smiling at him, 
very much pleased with themselves, juniper's 
face is a picture. 

JUNIPER. The Lord forgive you I What did you 
do it for ? 

FRANCIS. So that I might dream. 

JUNIPER. Dream what ? 

FRANCIS. The wolf, also, shall dwell with the 
lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid ; 
222 



THE CHAPTER 

and the calf, and the young lion, and the fatling 
together ; and a little child shall lead them. . . . 
A little child, Juniper. 

JUNIPER [shaking his head]. So you are a fool, too. 
Father ! 

FRANCIS. Yes. 

JUNIPER [kissing the hem of his robe']. Ah ! but 
you 're the right kind ! 

[Meanwhile the Counters have not been idle ; 
nor have their labours been conducted with any 
great secrecy. Brothers have come and looked 
over their shoulders and reported to others. 
And as they have done so, the coming event 
has cast its shadow befc/re, and brother elias 
has become the centre of an obsequious throng. 
Now the counting is over ; brother matted 
is summoned, and accompanied by his assist- 
ants, mounts once more to preside over the 
assembly. The Brothers come flocking back 
to their places ; but are far too much excited 
either to sit or arrange themselves in rows. A 
list is put into brother matted' s hand ; he 
stands up to speak. 
MATTED. The votes are all counted. Brothers. To 
five names votes have been given. I will read them. 
Brother Gregorio, seven hundred and forty -three. 
Brother Matteo (myself), three hundred and 
twenty-nine. 

Brother Elias [a stir of expectation runs through the 
assembly], twelve hundred and fifty -two. [The stir 
increases.] 

Brother Juniper [a murmur of suppressed laughter 
goes round], three. 

223 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Brother Francis [a murrmir of astonishment], one. 
Brother EHas, you are chosen. 

[The announcement is followed by great applause, 
BROTHER ELiAS IS pushed foTward by his sup- 
porters, and mounts the platform; as he appears 
before them the applause becomes tumultuous. 
BROTHER MATTED vacatcs Ms pldcc, kficels and 
kisses the cord of brother elias's girdle. 
The two assistants do likewise, brother 
ELIAS, advancing to the front of the platform, 
faces the throng of Brothers Minor, whose 
Vicar -General he now is. He raises his hand. 
All voices are hushed. 
ELIAS. Where is Brother Francis ? 

[Suddenly he looks down, and sees francis pros- 
trated before him. francis kisses the feet of 
BROTHER ELIAS. ELIAS stoops, raiscs and 
inakes him stand beside him. 
ELIAS. O Brother, Father in God, speak for me 
to these thy children, that I also to them may be a 
father ! [francis kneels. 

FRANCIS. O Christ, sweet Lover of men, now I 
return to Thee this Thy family which Thou gavest 
me to make Thine. Now Lord, as Thou knowest, I 
have not left in me strength or power or wisdom 
enough to keep care of them. Therefore I give 
them, henceforth, to the care of ministers. Let 
them so have charge that, in the Day when souls 
stand to be judged, they may be accountable if any 
brother, by their negligence or harsh rule or evil 
example, have erred or strayed from Thy fold. 

[He rises from his knees and takes brother elias 
by the hand. 

224 



THE CHAPTER 

Little Brothers, ye that have heard my voice as 
your shepherd, from henceforth look on me as dead ; 
for here in my place stands Brother Elias, whom 
you and I will all obey. [He turns to brother 
ELIAS.] Brother Elias, to thee I have given my 
flock, be thou its shepherd ! 

[Kissing the hem of brother elias' s robe, he 
turns to go. Already, among the Brethren, 
his prayer and farewell words have evoked tears 
and lamentations. Now an indescribable 
emotion seizes them, and a cry rises from many 
lips at once. 
VOICES. Little Father ! Little Father ! Give us 
thy blessing ere thou go ! 

[FRANCIS stretches out his hands over them in 
blessing. 
FRANCIS. God give you peace. Brothers ! 

[Suddenly from all sides breaks out a universal 
cry from the heart of the brotherhood. 
ALL. Don't go ! Don't leave us, little Father ! 
Little Father, don't go ! 

[In a paroxysm of love and grief, they rush to- 
wards him, fling themselves at his feet, clasp 
his hands, embrace him in passionate tender- 
ness. Engulfed in the arms of his lovers, he 
is seen swaying hither and thither like a vessel 
tossed by waves. 
JUNIPER [weeping]. See there, now ! See there ! 
What he said is true ! We are not such fools after 
all ! — ^Eh, but it 's too late now ! 

CURTAIN 
P 225 



BROTHER JUNIPER 




In the Consistoryj a large 
circular chamber with hare 
walls and small windows set 
aloft, sits Father Prior 
EliaSj judicially enthroned 
on a dais two-thirds of the 
way round ; the door is placed 
correspondingly to the other 
side. Around the walls sit 
the Brethren ; some are still 
entering, wAen Father Prior 
gives the signal for business 
to commence. 

PRIOR. In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus sancti. 

[He crosses himself, the others do likewise. A 

Brother who sits at his feet to make record of 

the "proceedings puts a written memorandum 

into his hand. 

Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER \rising\. Yes, Father. 

PRIOR. Stand out where all may look on thee ! 

JUNIPER. Yes, Father. 

[juniper advances to the centre, and begins 
weeping. 
PRIOR [sternly]. Why art thou weeping ? 
juniper. I know not. Father. It 's something 
in the air, and being fixed here alone, with you all 
looking at me. Oh, where is Father Francis ? 

prior. He is coming. Brother. . . . Dost thou 
know I have had complaint of thee ? 
227 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER. Aye, Father, likely enough ; for I 
complain often of myself. 

PRIOR. Thou may'st well. All the Brethren 
complain of thee. 

JUNIPER. Do they ? The Lord bless it to them. 
They 've reason for it. Father ; you needn't doubt. 
It 's all true. Oh, where 's Father Francis ? 

Enter Francis. 

FRANCIS. I am here. Brother. 

JUNIPER. O Father Francis, sit where I may 
look at you : else I '11 break my heart. 

PRIOR. Brother Francis, sit where he cannot look 
at you. 

[FRANCIS goes and sits on the end seat, behind 
JUNIPER and facing the prior. 

JUNIPER. There 's a blow ! O Father Prior, 
cut off my head, for I haven't got one ! What have 
I done ? If ever there was a sinner, it 's me. 

prior. Brother Rufus. 

RUFUS. Father Prior, I was in the kitchen making 
the bread. And when my back was turned, Brother 
Juniper 

JUNIPER. Aye : it 's true. 

PRIOR. Be silent, Brother Juniper ! Go on. 
Brother Rufus ! 

RUFUS. Brother Juniper, he came in, and put 
everything — ^meat, bread, and vegetables — into the 
oven together, and spoiled them. And when I 
came back there he was very proud of himself. 
Father, and full of telling me what he 'd done. So 
the Brothers had nothing to eat that day that 
didn't taste as though it had died in mortal sin, 
228 



BROTHER JUNIPER 

You know that. Father, yourself. He hadn't even 
skinned the rabbits, and all the fur of them was 
burnt. I speak truth, Father Prior, I do not lie. 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. It 's all true. Father. Only the day 
before I 'd heard him say 'twas such a trouble — 
so much cooking for so many of us, and we with such 
big bellies, and he so tired of it. So I thought I 'd 
show him the shorter way to satisfy us all. And it 
was that, wasn't it, Father ? And it wasn't that 
I 'd forgotten to skin the rabbits. Father ; but I 
thought their rinds come off in the cooking like the 
rind of a locust. I was a fool, Father ; and I still 
am ; and Brother Rufus hasn't forgiven me for it yet. 
Pray to God for me, Brother Rufus, that I may 

PRIOR. Brother Jerome. 

JEROME. Father Prior, a week since, at thy 
bidding, I told Brother Juniper he should no longer 
give all the clothes off his back to every beggar that 
asked. Six times in the last month. Father, had 
we to find clothes for him, for always did he come 
back naked when he was let out alone. For a 
week. Father, he was obedient ; he kept his clothes, 
and he did not go out. Yesterday he went out 
again ; and came back naked. 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. It 's true. Father ; I did come back 
naked ; but there was no help for it. 

PRIOR. Thou hast broken obedience. Brother. 

JUNIPER. No, no ; indeed. Father ! When I 

went out, I met a beggar, — a sturdy rogue, much 

bigger than me. Father. He said, ' Give me thy 

coat ! ' I said, ' I may not give it thee. But if 

229 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

thou wilt take it from me by force I shall be glad.' 
So he took it, Father. What could I do ? Has not 
Father Francis told us 

PRIOR. Brother Angelo. 

ANGELO. Father, thou know'st that in the chapel 
of the Blessed Sacrament is a new cloth, given to us 
by the Lady Giacomina, that had silver bells on it. 
After primes this morning, Brother Juniper being 
at the gate, a woman came and begged money for 
her husband that is in prison for theft. And because 
he had no money. Brother Juniper went to the 
altar, cut off the bells and gave her those. 

[At this enormity consternation and horror fall 
upon the community : francis alone seems 
unconcerned. 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. It 's true. Father Prior. But our Lord 
Himself told me to do it. 

PRIOR. How did our Lord tell thee ? 

JUNIPER. Didn't He say — some time or another — 
either when He was dying, or when — I don't know. 
Father : but did He not say, ' Whatever ye receive 
freely, ye must give freely.' And as the Lady 
Giacomina had given us those bells, hadn't I to give 
them to her that was in need ? For didn't our 
Father Francis 

PRIOR. If any other Brother hath charge or 
accusation to bring, let him speak now. 

\One rises, and makes obeisance. 
Brother Simon. 

SIMON. Father Prior, when Brother Juniper goes 
to feed the pigs he kisses them. Is it right that a 
Christian should kiss pigs ? 
230 



BROTHER JUNIPER 

JUNIPER. I do kiss them, Father, I do ; and they 
kiss me, sinner that I am ! God be with them ! 

PRIOR. Any other ? [Another rises.] Brother 
Anthony. 

ANTHONY. Indeed, Father Prior, we have so much 
against him, that there is no beginning and no end 
to it. For where Brother Juniper sets foot or lays 
hand, neither order nor sanity is left, — ^nor peace 
from the trouble he causes us. He turns wisdom 
to foolishness, making us be fools in men's eyes, 
so that they laugh at us. And as he grows older he 
gets worse and not better. Father. [Another rises. 

PRIOR, Brother John. 

JOHN. Father, when we see Brother Juniper 
coming into the midst of us it breaks our heart ; 
for we all love him, yet there is no bearing him ; 
nor have we any safety from what he may do 
next. Indeed, Father Prior, it were better that he 
were anywhere but here. Give him thy blessing. 
Father, and let him go ; lest he bring scandal on 
all the brotherhood. 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper, thou hast heard what 
the Brothers witness against thee ? 

JUNIPER. Aye, Father. 

PRIOR. What is thy answer ? 

JUNIPER. Nothing, Father. 

PRIOR. Nothing ? Dost thou count as nothing 
all these things wherewith thev have charged 
thee ? 

JUNIPER. O Father, what they have said of me 
they have said in true charity, and only of the 
faults they know. But did they know me inside 
out as God knows me, they must have said worse. 
231 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PRIOR. What shall be done to thee. Brother, 
now thou hast confessed thy guilt ? 

JUNIPER. Truly, Father, let me be punished as I 
would wish to be punished. That would teach me, 
I think. 

PRIOR. Yea, speak then. 

JUNIPER. Father, let me lie for a week in the gate ; 
and let all them that go in or out step on me, yea, 
stand with both feet and jump on me. And as they 
go by let them spit and say, ' Thou dirty dog, thou 
mud -pie, thou son of the dust, thou broken and 
rotten spine of a Juniper, take heart and thank God 
that for love of Him we deal thus mercifully and 
leniently with thee, and not according to thy miser- 
able deserts ! ' Let them do this to me. Father, 
having pity and forgiveness in their hearts, and I 
will be thankful so to be found worthy to be of such 
use to them. 

PRIOR. Of what use — so. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. An exercise for charity. Father ; God 
bless it to them ! And God bless you all. Brothers. 
The Lord love you ! 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper, we have heard them that 
accuse thee : we have heard also thine answer ; and 
it is no answer. For thou thyself hast owned that 
what they say against thee is true. Very grievously 
art thou to blame, Brother ; going thine own way 
thou hast provoked others, and thy delight hath 
been in mischief. In wantonness thou didst waste 
our substance ; by deceit thou wast disobedient ; 
and by presumption thou hast wrought sacrilege. 
Also by folly thou hast given us an ill reputation, 
doing hurt to the Order, and causing offence to 
232 



BROTHER JUNIPER 

weaker minds. For these things. Brother, thou 
dost well to beat thy breast and be ashamed . Search 
thy heart in penitence for what thou hast done. . . . 
Confess thyself and seek forgiveness of all. . . . 
Brother Juniper, dost thou repent ? 

[juniper's head goes up and down, open- 
mouthed he tries to affirm his penitence : finally 
word comes, 
JUNIPER. Aye ! 

PRIOR. Brother Juniper, for penance — [at the 
word ' penance ' juniper pulls up his frock and kneels 
on hare knees'] — I now command thee, on holy 
obedience, that thou go not forth from these gates, 
nor speak to any that be outside, or that come 
hither, until I bid thee. And further, thou shalt 
not speak unto any of the Brethren except when 
they bid thee speak on holy obedience, or for such 
things as shall be necessary ; and namely for the 
praise of God and of our Lord Jesus Christ in 
the holy office and before the altar. [He rises, 
and with swift motion makes the sign of the cross 
toward the community.] Nunc dimittis Domine. 
Pax vobiscum. 
BROTHERS. Amen. 

\The FATHER PRIOR gocs quickly out; the rest 
follow, all except francis . brother juniper 
remains kneeling. His mouth works like a 
fish biting at fiies ; he heats his hreast. 
FRANCIS. Brother Juniper, ... let us sing ! 

[juniper makes signs that he may not. 
On holy obedience, Juniper, I bid thee sing. 

[Bewildered, juniper makes further signs. 
Yea, and speak also. 

233 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER. What shall I sing, Father ? 

[fhancis helps him to Ms feet. 

FRANCIS. As I will teach thee. Begin thus : 
Praise God for our Brother Juniper ! 

JUNIPER laghasfl. Am I to sing that, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Aye, and more shall follow. Now, on 
holy obedience, as I have told thee, begin. 

[Very lamentably brother juniper lifts up his 
voice and drones in miserere tone the praise he 
so much disapproves. 

juniper. Praise God for our Brother Juniper ! 
It doesn't seem right. Father ! 

FRANCIS. No other fool on earth is like unto 
him. 

juniper [with better courage]. No other fool on 
earth is like unto him. ... I can sing that. Father, 
with a good conscience. 

FRANCIS [reprovingly at this breach of the rule]. 
Sh ! . . . By his foolishness he confoundeth the 
ways of the wise. 

juniper [still in Gregorian tones]. By his foolish- 
ness he confoundeth the ways of the wise. 

FRANCIS. And by his inconsequence disturbeth 
the counsels of the prudent. 

JUNIPER. And by his incompetence disturbeth 
the counsels of the prudent. 

FRANCIS. Improve not upon my words. Juniper : 
but ' incompetence ' will do. 

JUNIPER. Improve not upon my words, Juniper, 
but incompetence will do. 

FRANCIS [restraining his mirth with difficulty]. O 
Lord, in the making of this fool, how great a fool 
thou hast made him. 

234 



BROTHER JUNIPER 

JUNIPER. Lord, in the making of this fool, how 
great a fool thou hast made him. 

FRANCIS. When Folly openeth her mouth he 
goeth down into it. 

JUNIPER. "When Folly openeth her mouth he 
goeth down into it. 

FRANCIS. As Jonah into the belly of the whale 
which God had prepared for him. 

JUNIPER. As Jonah into the belly of the whale 
which God had prepared for him. 

FRANCIS. But therefrom, after a time, he re- 
turneth alive. 

JUNIPER. But therefrom, after a time, he re- 
turneth alive. 

FRANCIS. And preacheth repentance to the in- 
habitants of Nineveh. 

JUNIPER. And preacheth repentance to the in- 
habitants of Nineveh. 

[And now francis, seized by the spirit of song, 
begins to chant also, laying his arm across the 
shoulder of juniper ; and so the couple are 
standing when the father prior re-enters, 
and from behind gazes upon them in astonish- 
ment. 
FRANCIS. City of Nineveh. 
juniper. City of Nineveh. 
FRANCIS. Look upon Juniper ! 
JUNIPER. Look upon Juniper ! 
FRANCIS. Great is his foolishness. 
JUNIPER. Great is his foolishness. 
FRANCIS. Like unto Charity. 
JUNIPER. Like unto Charity. 

[FRANCIS ceases any longer to wait for juniper : 
235 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

he goes his own pace, and juniper stumbles 
after him, picking up as many of the words 
as he can master. Thus, in a fragmentary 
fashion, the duet continues. 
FRANCIS and juniper. 
Nineveh, Nineveh, 
What are you weeping for ? 
Blindness and hardness of heart without charity. 
Nineveh, Nineveh, 
What are you seeking for ? 
Juniper's fooHshness, prize above rubies. 
[Listening to all this, the face of their spiritual 
superior becomes eloquent, brother elias 
will never feel safe about the Order while these 
two are in it. Dead and canonised, he may 
find a use for them : but living they are really 
impossible. And so he throws up his hands 
and goes, while the two continue blissfully to 
chant the praise of foolishness. 
Prize above rubies ; 
Take it and spend it ! 
Nothing can equal it ; 
Nothing can mend it. 
Pearls before swine it is ; 
Find it or lose it ! 
Sweeter than wine it is ; 
Therefore I choose it. 
FRANCIS. And now, on holy obedience. Brother, 
I bid thee hold thy tongue again. To-morrow, for 
the same purpose, at about this hour, we will meet 
again. 

[juniper makes a gesture, but may no longer 
say anything. His heart is full of its own 
236 



BROTHER JUNIPER 

sweetness, and he stands lost in the new bliss 
that has been provided him. As for francis, 
his good work accomplished, he departs, light of 
step ; and the tune he goes to is that which he 
has just composed to the honour of brother 

JUNIPER. 

Nineveh, Nineveh, 

What are you weeping for ? 

Blindness and hardness of heart without charity. 

Nineveh, Nineveh, 

What are you seeking for ? 

Juniper's fooKshness, prize above rubies. 

[And so, sweetly singing, his voice dies away in 
the distance, juniper remains himself. 



CURTAIN 



287 



BROTHER ELIAS 




Scene: a room adjoining the 
refectory. Against the wall 
is a chair, and before it a 
small table. Above the chair 
hangs a crucifioc. Brother 
EliaSj the Father Prior^ is 
discovered seated. Before 
him stajids Brother Rufus. 



ELIAS. What said he then ? 

RUFUS. He said, Father, that we were to do work 
for our Hving, and that we were not to receive 
churches, nor dwelHngs, nor any roof to shelter us, 
except as conformed with holy poverty. 

ELIAS. ' Conformed ' ? Said he in what way ? 

RUFUS. He said, Father, that if any man wished 
to deprive us of them we must give them up to him. 
He said that we were not to receive hospitality 
therein, save as pilgrims and strangers ; and he 
said, Father, that if any bade us break this rule we 
were not bound to obey. 

ELIAS. Did he say — that ye should not obey ? 

RUFUS. Against the breaking of this rule he said it. 

ELIAS. He knows that I would speak with him ? 

RUFUS. Yes, Father ; he is out there waiting. 

ELIAS. Bid him come in. 

[rufus goes toward the door, then hesitates and 
turns. 

HUFUS. We all love him. Father. 
2S9 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

ELIAS. Yes, Brother ; and ye do well. 
RUFUS. What I have told thee now. Father, I 
have told because of holy obedience. 

ELIAS. As I bade thee. Yes : that is all. Brother. 
[rufus does not look happy, but he goes, elias 
rises, with a certain formality of gesture, 
turns to the crucifix and stands before it in 
prayer. 
Eripe me, Domine, ab homine malo ; a viro 
iniquo eripe me. In tret oratio mea in conspectu tuo, 
Domine ; ostende mihi, Domine, misericordiam tuam. 
[FRANCIS has entered, and stands waiting in the 
doorway, brother elias moves from the 
crucifix and stands with head bent in thought. 
FRANCIS. Father Prior, Brother Elias, thou didst 
send for me. 

ELIAS. Come in, Brother Francis, sit down. 1 
would speak with thee. 

[FRANCIS comes in ; but still stands, leaving 
vacant the stool of repentance which stands 
in the centre, elias seats himself. 
ELIAS. Thou dost pray for me. Brother ? 
FRANCIS. Aye, Father. 

ELIAS. And for all the Brethren thou pray est also? 
FRANCIS. Aye, Father. 

ELIAS. Doth it repent thee. Brother, that God 
put it into thy heart to give charge of thy flock 
unto others ? 

FRANCIS. No, Father. 

ELIAS. Thou knowest also how, by their voice, 
the rule was given unto me. 

FRANCIS. The rule was given unto thee, — ^to keep. 
Father. 

240 



BROTHER ELIAS 

ELiAS. Wherefor, then, dost thou teach as 1 have 
commanded thee not ? 

FRANCIS. As God hath commanded me. Father, 
so I teach. 

ELIAS. I bade thee to sit down. Brother. 
[FRANCIS seats himself on the doorstep. A pause.] 
Brother, if I bade thee to go a long journey, and 
preach to men who knew not thy language, — 
wouldst thou do it ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, Father. 

ELIAS. Though they should understand thee not ? 

FRANCIS. If God so willed, they would under- 
stand. Father. 

ELIAS. True. And if I bade thee preach by signs 
only, wouldst thou do it ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, Father. 

ELIAS. And if I bade thee preach neither by 
voice, nor by sign, but only by silence, saying 
nothing — ^wouldst thou do that also. [A pause.] 
Wliat is thy answer ? 

FRANCIS. If thou so command me on holy 
obedience, — I will do it, Father. 

ELIAS. Brother, I do not so command thee ; for 
I know well that God hath put love in thy heart, 
and that by word and example thou hast saved 
many. Therefore because thou hast loved much, 
much shall be forgiven thee. Nevertheless, Brother, 
thou hast done ill to meddle in those things which 
for the ordering of the Brotherhood are now com- 
mitted unto others. So I charge thee, on holy 
obedience [francis, making the sign of the cross, 
kneels], speak no more of that which concerns thee 
not, of rule, and order, and discipline. Or if thou 
Q 241 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

must speak when others question thee, then let 
thy word be of submission and obedience to those 
that are in authority — cleaving unto them the 
interpretation of it. So shall there be unity in the 
Order instead of confusion. . . . Thou hast heard, 
Brother. Wilt thou obey ? [A pause. 

FRANCIS. Yes, Father. 

ELiAS. Brother Francis, it is hard for thee, I 
know, to humble thyself in this Order which thou 
hast made, and to obey others. For me also, 
that am thy son in the spirit, it is hard to speak 
thus, ruling thee by the word of authority. But 
what thou hast given thou hast given ; and Holy 
Church hath accepted at thy hand this jewel which 
was thy finding rare and precious. So through thy 
love of men shall be seen the love of Heaven. 
Now Mother Church wears it upon her breast, and 
by the warmth of her love and the light of her 
wisdom its power of radiance increaseth. Yea, 
so much doth she cherish and care for it, that now 
it hath become one of the stones of her foundation. 
On it she buildeth, on it she setteth up a tower, on it 
she raiseth a standard and an ensign for the nations. 
Brother, seek not to unbuild that wall, and that 
high tower, to take back into thine own keeping this 
jewel, once thine, too great for thy possession. That 
which thou hast given belongs now to God only. 
Put thy trust in Him, and thou shalt do well. 

[elias takes a parchment and writes on it. 
FRANCIS bows forward and begins to write in 
the dust. Twilight has begun. 

ELIAS. I have spoken. Brother, for thy good. 

FRANCIS. Father Prior, I thank thee. 
242 



BROTHER ELIAS 

[Having paused to speak, he continues writing. 
ELIAS sits watching him. 
ELIAS. What art thou writing, Brother ? 
FRANCIS. Thy reproof, and my sentence, Father. 
ELIAS. Read it, for I would hear. 
FRANCIS. ' Upon thy belly shalt thou go, and 
dust shalt thou eat ; for dust thou art, and unto 
dust thou shalt return.' Father Prior, Brother 
Elias, pray for me ! 

[elias rises, and makes to go. The room gets dark. 
ELIAS. God be with thee. Brother. I am sorry 
that I have given thee pain. 

FRANCIS. God bless thee for thy pains. Father. 

[Exit BROTHER ELIAS. 

[FRANCIS Still kneels, he wrestles with himself; 
then lifting his hands begins brokenly to sing 
the Canticle of the Sun. 
Praised be my Lord for all being. 
And namely praise for our Brother Sun, 
Who bringeth us day and light for seeing ; 
With joy he cometh his course to run. 

[brother LEO enters with a taper, and lights 
the lamp over the door into the refectory. In 
the refectory one sees a table being laid. 
FRANCIS rises to his feet. Other Brothers 
begin to come in. They join one after 
another in the singing. 
FRANCIS. Also for Sister Moon be praise, 
LEO. And for the stars which stand on high. 
FRANCIS. Lovely, and clear, in heavenly ways, 
LEO. Of Thee to us they do testify. 
FRANCIS. Praised be my Lord for Brother Wind, 
And air, and cloud, and calms of weather ; 
243 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BROTHERS. Whereby all creatures thou dost bind 
Into one fellowship together. 

FRANCIS. Praised be my Lord for Mother Earth ; 

LEO. Us she holdeth in care and keep. 

BROTHERS. And divcrs fruits she bringeth to birth. 
Flowers to array, and grass to reap. 

FRANCIS. Praised be my Lord for all who give — 

BROTHERS. Pardon to others for His Love's sake, 

FRANCIS. And meekly endure in pains to live ; 

BROTHERS. In Him they rest, and in Him shall wake. 

[A pause, francis, looking from one to the other, 

seems for the first time to be fully aware of them. 

FRANCIS. So the voices — ^were yours. Brothers ? 

LEO. We are come — as you told us, little Father. 

FRANCIS. Aye ? Wherefor, little sheep ? 

JUNIPER. To hear the shepherd's voice, Father. 

LEO. Thou didst promise. 

FRANCIS. What, Brother ? 

LEO. To speak to us. 

FRANCIS. God bless 3^ou, Brothers. [A pause. 

JUNIPER. Is that all it 's to be, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Is not that enough ? God bless you 
again. Brothers ; and yet again ; and 3^et again ! 
When I can do that no more, do it to each other. 

JUNIPER. Father, thou hast been weeping. 
What have we done wrong ? 

FRANCIS. O little sheep, little sheep, hearing my 
voice, how have ye strayed from the right way ! 

LEO. Never from thee. Father ! 

FRANCIS. Nay ; but from obedience — very 
grievously. 

JUNIPER. Have we been disobedient. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Alas ! surely. For if one disobey, 
244 



BROTHER ELIAS 

then all that follow are disobedient likewise. 
Therefore follow not — ^me. 

JUNIPER. Where am I to go then. Father ? 

FRANCIS. I know not. Brother ; for when obedi- 
ence taketh me by the hand — I am blind. And 
she is blind also. 

LEO. Tell us. Father. How shall we obey — if we 
neither know, nor see ? 

FRANCIS. It is like this. Brother. Take a dead 
body and put it where you will, it resists not. Place 
it there, it will not murmur ; take it away, it will not 
object. Put it in a pulpit, it will only hang its head 
and look down ; clothe it in purple, and you shall 
only see more plainly how dead it is. So, if ye 
would obey, ye also must be deaf and blind and 
dead : even as I now am dead unto those that I 
love. 

JUNIPER. Art thou going from us. Father ? 

FRANCIS. In a little while, when Father Prior 
hath given me leave. 

LEO. May I go with thee. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Yes, if he will let thee. 

ANGELO. And I, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Aye, if it be God's will. 

JUNIPER. May I go, too. Father ? 

FRANCIS. No, Juniper. Stay here with the rest ; 
Father Prior hath need of thee. 

JUNIPER. This is the first I 've heard of it then. 
Sure, he would like to be rid of me ! 

FRANCIS. Where wisdom and prudence are the 
rule, fools are precious. Brother. 

LEO. Our rule is from thee. Father. Oh, how 
shall we obey it when thou art dead ? 
245 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. As I told thee. Brother. Ye must be 
dead also. 

LEO. Alas, Father. We do not understand. 

FRANCIS [seating himself]. Seemeth this to you 
a hard saying ? But it is simple. Sister Wood is 
dead ; yet when I sit on her she serveth me well ; 
nor hath she any wish to do otherwise. Brother 
Bread yonder is dead also ; yet he feedeth us. So 
by his means we live and praise God daily. And 
thus it is with all : living we must needs take from 
others for our own sustenance : but dying we do 
service, having thenceforth nothing which is our 
own. See, then, how sweet and pleasant a thing, 
Brethren, it is to die ! . . . Brother Juniper, what 
is that lies yonder ? 

JUNIPER. This wooden platter. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Nay, nay, that is my lute ; give it me ! 
Now look you and hearken, though Sister Lute hath 
no strings she shall make music for us. Though 
dead she speaketh. This that ye hear now, is it not 
sweet ? And when it is over shall ye not remember 
it? 

[FRANCIS places the platter across his knee, and 
plucks at imaginary strings. 
Tell me. Juniper, is this not sweet to thine ears ? 

JUNIPER [with a deep breath]. Aye, Father, aye ; 
it is beautiful. 

FRANCIS. See now. Brothers ; with his fleshly ear 
he hath heard nothing. Yet because I play the 
fool with him, the fool's heart respondeth and is 
joyful. And let me play never so ill. Sister Lute 
singeth not out of tune ; but goeth nimbly and 
cunningly, doing all that I would have her do — 
246 



BROTHER ELIAS 

because she is dumb, Brothers, and dead. So out ot 
her, to these poor fingers that have no skill, come 
celestial harmonies such as ye never heard the like 
of tofore. And thou. Sister Lute, being so deaf and 
dumb and dead, hast done us great service ; yea, 
for thou hast given us joy ! 

Sing again. Brothers ! — Sing again ! Sing, Leo ! 
Sing, Angelo ! Sing, Juniper ! 

[The playing o/francis grows fast and furious ; 
he starts singing a joyous exercise in phonetics, 
imitative of strings. 
Lal-a-lal, lal-a-lal ! La, la, lah ! etc. 

\The Brothers join in, all singing their several 
parts. Into this riotous scene of head- swinging 
and tongue-wagging comes elderly brother 
BERNARD, and gazes at them with mild 
astonishment. 
BERNARD. What are ye doing. Brothers ? 
FRANCIS. Playing the fool. Brother Bernard. 
JUNIPER. Father Francis is teaching us. 
BERNARD. Aye ! So I think. 
FRANCIS \rising\. Look at us, all fools. Brother ; 
and I the greatest of them. 

JUNIPER. O Father, art thou a greater fool than I? 
FRANCIS. Yes, Brother. 
JUNIPER. God help us ! Is that true ? 
FRANCIS. Surely. For what fool was greater 
than I, when I took thee for my disciple ? 

JUNIPER. Ah ! That 's true, now ! God be praised 
for it. He has said it, Brothers ! There stands a 
greater fool than I. Oh ! is he not beautiful ? 

[FRANCIS yokes himself with juniper, and starts 
singing once more. 

247 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Praised be my Lord for all fools. 
And namely praise for our Brother Ass ; 
The ways of the wise He over -rules, 
And mighty things He bringeth to pass ! 
Enter brother giles, clanging a large cow-hell. 
FRANCIS. Little sheep, what is thy bell for ? 
GILES. Feeding -time, Father. Your grass is 
waiting for you. 

\He goes out, his hell ringing into the distance. 
FRANCIS. Go to grass, little sheep, go to grass and 
eat well ! Ring them in. Brother Giles, ring them in ! 
\The Brothers 'pass into the refectory, juniper 
goes last. 
Brother Juniper. 
JUNIPER. Aye, Father ? 

FRANCIS. When thou prayest for Brother Elias, 
pray for me also. 

JUNIPER. I will. Father. 

[He takes Francis's sleeve, hisses it, and goes 
in to the refectory, francis remains with the 
wood in his hand. His fingers stray over it, 
and his voice hegins faintly once more the same 
joyous refrain. 
FRANCIS. Lal-a-lal ! Lal-a-lal ! La, la, lah ! . . . 
Lal-a-lal, lah ! . . . Lal-a-lal, lah ! . . . La, la, 

lah ! 

[His voice hreaks, he hows his face into his hands 
weeping. B'ROTB.Bn:EU as, followed 6?/ brother 
RUFus, comes quickly in and passes through to 
the refectory, brother rufus halts, stands look- 
ing at the weeping francis, and heats his hreast. 

CURTAIN 



THE SERAPHIC VISION 




On a plateau of rock, high 
and precipitous, a small cell, 
roughly built of stones and 
timber, stands amid a group 
of pines and cypress-trees. 
Above the door is a narrow 
window slit; on the gable a 
wooden cross. A narrow 
foot-bridge of primitive con- 
struction connects the plateau 
and the foreground, which is 
formed of rough stones inter- 
spersed with juniper bushes. Below the foot-bridge is a precipice, 
from which emerge the tops of pines. When the scene opens it is 
dusk; the warmth of daylight has gone, and behind the cell the 
moon has not yet risen. Brother Leo stands alone by the foot- 
bridge, gazing toward the cell, the door of which is shut. Brother 
Bernard enters hastily. Brother Leo raises a warning hand, 
without turning his eyes from the point on which they are fixed. 

BERNARD. Ha ! Brother Leo ? 
LEO. Hush ! Speak low ; speak low ! 

BERNARD. What canst thou hear ? 
LEO. Nothing ! . . . Nothing ! 

BERNARD. Since when ? 

LEO. Alas, 'tis three days, Brother. 
BERNARD. Thou hast been here ? 

LEO. Or Brother Angelo. We watch by turn : 
And all this while silence as of the grave ! 

BERNARD. I will Watch toO. 

LEO. My message found thee. When ? 
BERNARD. At ycstcr-noon. 

LEO. Thou hast been quick. 

249 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

BERNARD. Ah, Brother, 

Do we not love him ? 

LEO. He is more to me 

Than Hfe. God pardon me ! When I need comfort, 
I speak his name. 

BERNARD. Three days, thou say est ? and all that 
time no sound ? 
Truly, he is within there, think you, still ? 

LEO. He is there. Brother. 

BERNARD. And yet liveth ? 

LEO. Yea, 

He liveth ! . . . Oh, fair Brother, pray for me ! 
I may not leave him. Yet am I afraid ! 

BERNARD. Why ? For what cause ? 

LEO. Lest with these sinful eyes 

I may behold a mystery too great ! 

BERNARD. God gavc thcc thine eyes. Brother. 

LEO. Yea, and my heart 

Also ; yet I do fear ! 

BERNARD. Hark, who comes here ? 

LEO. 'Tis Brother Angelo ; he bringeth bread 
Daily. . . . Ah, me ! 

Enter angelo .* he goes up to the door of the cell, 
stands and makes a gesture of distress. He ex- 
changes the loaf he carries for the one he finds there, 

ANGELO {returning']. Look, he hath eaten nothing ! 
What ? Brother Bernard ? 

BERNARD. Aye. . . . This for three days ! 
LEO. He hath had no food for seven. 

BERNARD. I will gO in. 

ANGELO. We may not. 

LEO. So we watch helpless ! Shall it never end ? 
250 



THE SERAPHIC VISION 

BERNARD. What suicty have ye, Brothers, that 
he hves still ? 

LEO. I know ! I know ! 

BERNARD. How knowest thou ? 

LEO. I have seen. 

When all is dark, there within wakes a light ! 
And as a flame before the Sacrament 
So through the night it burns, and fades at dawn. 

ANGELO. I also have seen it. Brother. 

BERNARD. Oh, what is here ? 

'Tis marvel that thou tellest. 

LEO. Why, so I think ! 

BERNARD. What else ? For surely in thy face 
I read 
More than thy speech reveals. 

LEO. Well, thou shalt hear. 

On the fourth day, as I watched here alone, — 
Nigh spent, for Brother Angelo had not come, — 
About this hour, I looked, and lo, the door 
Wide, and he standing by it. Then I heard 
His voice, ' Who art thou. Lord ? ' and then again, 
' Who art thou ? ' and therewith such tender words 
Of adoration as I may not utter. 
Then said he, ' What am I ? O poor vile worm 
That dieth, unworthy servant of my Lord ! ' 
And as I looked I saw come down from Pleaven 
A torch of fire most beautiful and bright ; 
Over his head it rested ; and from the flame 
Came forth a voice ; but of the words it spake 
Naught could I understand. 

BERNARD. And then ? 

LEO. What else 

I saw not : for by the brightness of that flame 
251 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Mine eyes were blinded, and fear shook my heart. 
When I awoke, 'twas Brother Angelo 
Stood by me ; and the place was dumb. 

ANGELO. Here lying 

I found him, Brother ; and when he opened eyes 
He did not know me ; only afterwards 
He told me this. 

BERNARD. What mystery hast thou seen ? 

LEO. I have seen holiness ; therefore am afraid. 
BERNARD. Ah ! be not troubled. Brother ! Let 
us pray, 
God's light be in our eyes, and in our hearts. 
Had we but hearts like this, what light were ours ! 
[They kneel. Behind the cell the moon rises 
among the trees. The window of the cell 
lightens. 
ANGELO. Oh, see ! see ! 
LEO. Oh, is not that light — ^wonderful ? 
BERNARD. Now the door opens. 
ANGELO. Hush ! 

[FRANCIS appears in the doorway. A pause. 

He moves forward, rapt, with face raised and 

arms stretched wide. 

FRANCIS. O Thou Lover of my soul, why dost 

thou call me 

Whither I cannot follow thee ? . . . [A pause. 

Yea, I come ! 
I sleep ; but my heart waketh. 'Tis the voice 
Of my Beloved, saying, ' Open to me ! ' 
O my sweet Lover ! 

BERNARD. Nay, Brothers, let us go I 

This is too holy a mystery for our ears. 
Come, come, away ! 

252 



THE SERAPHIC VISION 

ANGELO [softly]. Father, God give thee peace ! 
LEO [softly, with a gesture of valediction]. Ah, 
Httle Father, hold me in thy heart. 
And pray for me ! 

BERNARD. Quick ! ere he speak, be hence ! 

[They go out softly one by one. Francis stands, 
rapt, then speaks with pauses. His voice is 
low and tender. 
FRANCIS. I opened to my Beloved, but He was 
gone. . . . 
I sought Him, He could not be found. ... I called. . . . 
He gave no answer. ... Be not Thou far off ! 

Lord, my strength, haste Thee to succour me ! 

[Slowly the radiance of the moon passes into 
cloud ; the form of francis becomes dim, 
only his face is discernible. As he speaks, a 
deep vibration of music begins, barely audible. 
Everything that surrounds him gradually fades 
away ; his body seems to stand no longer on 
earth but cloud. 

1 know, I know that my Redeemer liveth. 
And at the last shall stand upon the earth. 
Though with corruption worms destroy this body, 
Yet in my very flesh shall I see God. 

Him shall these eyes behold, and not another : 
Yea, though He slay me, I will trust in Him. 

[A pause ; very faintly in the distance thunder 
is heard. 
All things were made by Him. And without Him 
Nothing was made that was made. In Him was 

Life ; 
And Life — the Light of men. And the Light shines 
In darkness ; and the darkness knoweth it not. 
253 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

[Soft sheet lightning begins to play, hut the 
thunder is still scarcely heard. 
That was the true Light, Hghting every man 
That Cometh into the world. All flesh shall see it ! 

[A prolonged flash of lightning. After it the 
light grows brighter ; and a fuller music is 
heard, accompanied by thunder. 
O light of heaven, that with a million eyes 
Dost visit space, a timeless traveller. 
And wing -wide coveresfc the brief lives of men. 
Say, hast thou seen the Passion of my Lord ? 
O freshening air, that through a million mouths 
Hast given to mortals breath, — ^air, which He 

breathed 
While yet on earth, and which my lips taste now, — 
Say, didst thou taste the Passion of my Lord ? 
O dust of the ground, trodden by feet of men. 
O broken bread of clay, from which was made 
Man in God's image, meek substance formed for all, 
How hast thou shared the Passion of my Lord ? 
O ye great hills, wherefor did ye mount up 
High-headed into heaven to gaze on space, 
If in that hour ye sought not Calvary ? 
Say, saw ye then the Passion of my Lord ? 
O ye green things of Earth, ye covering leaves, 
And tender herb, and shaken grass, and flower. 
Ye drops of dew, ye mists, and sundering clouds, 
Ye falling rains, and streams, ye downward torrents. 
Ye firmamental tides which ebb and flow. 
What part have ye in the Passion of my Lord ? 

\The lightning becomes more incessant ; the air 
around him is charged with golden points of 
fire. 

254 



THE SERAPHIC VISION 

O winds. His ministers, O wheeling fires. 

And charioteers of space which, at His will. 

Do burn continually on unseen wing. 

Legions on legions, angels that attend,— 

Where hold ye hid the Passion of my Lord ? 

Why doth not Earth sweat blood, if to her dust 

From those dear Veins one drop did ever fall ? 

Why runs not ocean red, since water washed 

His Wounds for burial ? Why are not those thorns 

Ruddier than rubies which once pierced His Brow ? 

Oh, why is Earth still Earth, since He, from Heaver , 

Her Maker cometh giving life to all ? 

[His utterance becomes swift. In the air about 
him a mysterious commotion is seen, and the 
lights no longer burn steadfastly : they gloom 
and brighten again, as though unseen forms 
were passing before them. 

Ye, that with wing on wing 

Your faces covering. 

Do shroud the hidden thing 

From the blindness of man's sight. 

Undo, unloose again, 

Holy and without stain. 

His glory : let Christ reign, 

And all be Light ! 

By birth, blessing, and bliss, 

Creation did mean this, — 

Form came for Love to kiss, 

Making the whole world His ! 

To Chaos, a waste of shame. 

Through night without end or aim, 

Into the darkness came 

His Word as a shaft of flame. 
255 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

In silence of night and sleep. 

Through the void under, above, 

Lo, the Spirit of Love 

Moved on the face of the deep ; 

He spake, and the Light did leap ! 

He saw, and it was done ; 

He found for its fires a way ; 

He parted the moon and sun. 

And out of the night brought day. 

He made new Heaven, new Earth, 

And lo, where the Light did shine 

Came living things to birth, 

With music, and mouths of mirth. 

And eyes to behold His worth, 

And hearts to know Him divine. 

Was not Creation this : — 

By birth, blessing, and bliss. 

Clasping His Feet, we kiss ? 

We are hers ; she is His ; . . . 

He is mine ! 

[As FRANCIS ceases, a golden rain is seen falling 
about him ; slowly the air begins to brighten 
with the coming of dawn. Music is heard 
and voices singing. He stands rapt and 
expectant. 
VOICES. Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts, 

Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory ; Glory be 

to Thee, O Lord most high ! 

FRANCIS. O Maker Christ, O Love made Flesh, 
make me ! 

Fashion me in Thine image ere I die ! 

That I may know Thy Passion, let me be 

Partaker of Thy pains ! Weak, weak I cry ; 
256 



^ 



THE SERAPHIC VISION 

Oh, come Thou unto me ! 

I faint, for Thee I thirst. Now, lest I waste. 

Let me be filled with thee ! Sweet Saviour, haste. 

Lift Thou me up. . . . 

Give me Thy cup ... 

To taste ! 

[A marvellous brightness falls upon the face of 
FRANCIS ; the air becomes blue and radiant. 
He stands in a golden shower, gazing intently 
before him. Slowly he lifts and extends his 
arms in the form of the Cross. His voice be- 
comes faint with joy and ravishment. 

O Day-star from on high. 

Out of yon Eastern sky. 

How swiftly Thou dost fly ! . . . 

And lo, with hands stretched wide. 

Like my Lord, ere He died, 

In form most glorified. 

Thou comest ! . . . 

From what height ? 

O blessed, holy sight ! 

O Light of Light ! 

[He stands entranced in ecstasy. The dawn lies 
golden about him. From the world below 
comes a loud singing of birds. The mist fades 
and begins to disappear ; behind him is see7i 
faintly the cell with its door open. Earth 
appears again. Slowly he lets down his hands, 
which bear the marks of the Passion, 

CURTAIN 



257 



BROTHER SIN 




A large cell containing table, 
chair, stool, and writing ma- 
terials. Before the crucifix, 
to one side of which hangs 
a curtain, Brother Leo 
stands in an attitude oj deep 
dejection. Brother Juniper^ 
entering fi'om the outer door, 
halts abruptly and stands 
watching him. Leo beats 
his breast; his lips move fast 
in prayer, but no sound 

comes from them. Suddenly he stops, and with a despairing 

gesture draws the curtain across the crucifix. 

LEO. So — SO shall it be with me for ever ! 

[Moving away, he sits down at the table, his head 
bowed, his hands clenched before him. juniper, 
approaching softly, stands looking at him. 
JUNIPER. Brother Leo. . . . [He waits: slowly IuEO 
raises his head.] Shall I tell thee what thou art ? 
LEO. Aye ! If thou canst. 

JUNIPER. Thou art a fool, [leo is about to 
speak.] Here ! Do not answer ! for thy wits are 
better than mine : and if thou talk I shall be 
beaten. On holy obedience I charge thee, speak 
not till I have done ! Look at me : this is Brother 
Juniper — a.fool, a numskull. Thou canst tell from 
my face that I have no brain. Had God not loved 
me, I had better never been born. When I weep, 
men laugh that I do it so ill : and when I laugh 
they are like to weep, I do it with so ugly a face, 
259 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

But God loves me ; and whether I laugh or weep. 
He knows what I mean. . . . But 'tis not of 
Brother Juniper I speak now. Thou moping fool ! 
[Then, with softened voice] Thou dear son of 
Father Francis, whom he loves best of us all. . . . 
[leg hows his head and the tears rush from his eyes.] 
Aye, weep, weep ! Thou dost well to weep ; and 
canst do it better than I . . . but not with more 
love. Brother ... in thy heart. 

[leg raises himself. With one arm he covers his 
eyes ; the other he extends as if groping for 
aid. JUNIPER continues to expostulate. 
What hast thou been doing to thyself, these three 
weeks ? Aye ; ever since thou and he came back 
from the mountain. Wast thou so mum to him up 
there ? No wonder he fell ill of thy company ! 

[leg rises, and turns away. 
Well, this is all I would say to thee — then let thy 
tongue be loosed. If thou do not open thy heart. 
Brother Leo, thy heart will die. 

LEG. It is dead already ; and by this time it stinketh. 

juniper. The Lord give me another nose, then : 
for I smell it not ! 

LEG. O Brother Juniper, I thank God for thy 
small wits and thy great heart ! To thee will I 
speak. \He crosses himself] In nomine Dei ! 

JUNIPER [crossing himself]. Name o' Jesus ! 

LEG. I look on Him whom I have pierced, but do 
not love. My love is earthly ; so am I lost for ever ! 

JUNIPER. Name o' Jesus : say it again ! You 
do not love our Father Francis ? 

LEG. Would God I did not love him so well ! 
For when we worship the creature, then is the 
260 



BROTHER SIN 

Creator not in us ! . . . Brother Juniper, I have 
told thee my grief. 

JUNIPER [shaking his head]. I cannot mend it, 
Brother : but Father Francis can. Open to him ! 

LEO. To him ? I dare not ! 

JUNIPER. Then thou dost not love him. 

LEO. O Juniper, I have seen a mystery done 
in him whereof I may not speak : therefore my 
heart is full of fear. For now he is made perfect, 
and full of light. But what he sees I cannot see. 
So, looking on him, I know that I am blind. 

JUNIPER [at a loss]. Eh ! I am a fool again. 
Brother, and have naught to say. Yet, could I 
lend thee some of my foolishness, 'twere easier for 
God to mend thy wits. [He turns to depart, then 
faces about again.] Brother Leo, give me thy 
blessing on what I am about to do. 

LEO. What is that. Brother ? 

JUNIPER. I go to feed swine. 

LEO. God be with thee. Brother, and give thee peace . 

JUNIPER. And my swine also ! Peace for them. 
[He waits till the other speaks. 

LEO. . . . Yea ; and thy swine also ! [juniper 
goes out.] But for me no peace. Darkness is upon 
my soul. Nowhere can I find Him. Ah, Father 
Francis, Father Francis, bring back to me the love 
of Christ ! 

[The door of the inner cell opens, francis 
appears ; he totters and leans upon the door- 
post for suppoH. His hands and feet are 
bandaged ; when he walks it is with pain. 

FRANCIS. Brother Leo, come and give me thy 
hand — ^for my feet fail me. 
261 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

LEO [going eagerly to his aid]. Let me carry thee, 
Father ! Where wouldst thou be ? 

FRANCIS. Over there, Brother. [He starts to 
walk.] Three steps, . . . and three more . . . 
and then . . . only three more. 

LEO [tenderly]. Sit down, Father. 

FRANCIS [seating himself]. You, too. Brother Leo ; 
I would have you write for me. Where is the scrip 
you made yesterday ? 

[leo goes and fetches it from a recess. 

LEO. Here, Father. 

FRANCIS. Read ; what comes last ? 

LEO [still standing, reads from the parchment], 
' Therefore, let no man say " I love God," if he do 
not the will of God ; or if he give not his body unto 
pain of death, that so God's will be done in him, 
if by infirmity he cannot of himself. So in his weak- 
ness shall the power of love be made known. . . . 
[As LEO reads, for grief of spirit his voice breaks. 

FRANCIS [after a pause]. Was there no more. 
Brother ? . . . Hadst thou written no more ? 

LEO [with an effort]. There is more. Father ; but 
I cannot read it ! 

FRANCIS [reaching up his hand for the MS.]. Who 
was with thee just now ? I heard voices. 

LEO. Brother Juniper. 

FRANCIS. God did well when He made Brother 
Juniper. 

[So thinks leo, hut the word cannot find utterance. 
If thou art ever in doubt, Leo, — tell it to Brother 
Juniper : for God hath given him a simple heart. . . . 
Where is thy scrip ? [leo gives him the MS.]. Nay I 
it is written plain : why couldst thou not read it ? 
262 



BROTHER SIN 

LEO [with an effort]. I will read it. Father. 

[leo puts out his hand for the MS. erancis 
retains it, sitting mazed in meditation. 
FRANCIS. Brother Leo . . . last night I saw one 
crucified, and bearing the pains of death — ^not for 
love, but for hate. 

LEO. That was strange, Father. 
FRANCIS. Yea, a great marvel : but strange are 
the ways of men. The face was a face I knew : one 
that I had loved well. 

LEO. Who was that, Father ? 
FRANCIS. Brother Sin. 

[With a quick instinctive gesture leo crosses 
himself. 
LEO. What like was he. Father ? 
FRANCIS. He is like a leper. Brother : separate 
and cut off from his own kind. He crieth, and 
none heareth ; he is athirst, yet will not drink ; 
he is in darkness, yet will not look on light. He 
hath need, and knoweth it not. The love of God 
vexeth him, for the love of God will not let him go. 
[During this recital leo's face shows an ever 
livelier emotion. 
Dost thou remember, Leo, how once thou didst 
wash the feet of a leper, because he so hated thee ? 
LEO. Aye. 

FRANCIS. So that, after, he hated thee no more. 
LEO. That was long ago. Father. Now — he is 
in peace. 

FRANCIS. Then I learned of thee, Leo. Then 
didst thou bring me nearer to Christ. 

[leo bows his head ; his breast is shaken by sobs, 
but he makes no sound. 
263 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

So would I wash the feet of Brother Sin, — ^because 
he hateth me. 

[There is a pause, francis sits lost in thought. 
LEO stands waiting ; his eyes are shut, as with 
a covert motion he heats upon his breast. 
Leo, wilt thou go for me to Father Prior, Brother 
Elias, and say that I, little Brother Francis, do ask 
of him forgiveness and blessing. Say that were I 
not lame, I would come to him myself. 

LEO [accepting an order whose meaning he cannot 
fathom']. I will go, Father. 

[tlnseen by francis he pauses for a moment, as 

though about to throw himself at his feet, then 

goes quickly out. francis sits waiting : 

presently his eyes grow tranced. 

FRANCIS. Ah, Thou that lookest upon me through 

these eyes of hate, Lover of my life, depart not from 

me yet ! O Light, O Beauty, O Desire of mine eyes, 

out of the heart of this mine enemy come to me, 

that I with Thee, through him, may be made one ! 

Thee, whom I held bound. Thee will I release ; 

Thee, whom I feared, Thee will I trust. My Maker, 

my God, come down to me from Thy Cross, and be 

known to me — ^through the sins of men. This 

spear of doubt, these nails of fear, these thorns of 

envy, wherewith hate hath wounded Thee, — O 

Brother Sin, Brother Sin, turn not away — open 

thine eyes, that through them I may look on Him 

we have pierced ! 

LEO [returning']. He is not there. Father. 

[francis stays tranced, leg kneels before him. 
O Father, what dost thou see ? 

FRANCIS [become dimly aware of him]. Brother 
264 



BROTHER SIN 

Leo, lay thy hand on me. 

[leg, approaching on his knees, lays his hands 

on the heart of francis. With bowed head 

and face half-averted, he waits fearfully till 

FRANCIS again speaks. 

Brother Leo, often with these hands thou hast 

done wrong, yet now they comfort me. Often with 

thine eyes thou hast been bHnd, yet in them I see 

Hght. Often with thy tongue thou hast denied thy 

Lord : yet never hath He denied me thee. Often hast 

thou forgotten God ; yet thou dost remind me of Him. 

LEO. Father, thou dost break my heart ! Ah, go 

from me ! Go from me ! 

FRANCIS [in tender surprise]. Brother Leo ! 
[leo bows himself at the knees of francis, and 
breaks into passionate weeping, francis lays 
his hands on him. 
My son . . . what is thy trouble ? . . . Now, on 
holy obedience, I charge thee tell it me. 
LEO. To be near thee, Father ! 
FRANCIS [after a pause]. Go from me, Leo , , . 
if thou wilt. 

LEO. I would not. Father. 

FRANCIS. Then come nearer to me. . . . Look on 
me ! Lift up thy head ! . . . O Brother — little 
sheep — ^is it not strange that we, children of Love, 
look upon each other thus through eyes of flesh ? 
For what parts us each from each — that we can see ; 
but what joins us we cannot see. Had we been 
blind, with no eyes to separate us, we should have 
been nearer — ^in our infirmity. But now, because 
face looketh upon face, we seem to be twain. 
LEO. That is true. Father. As thou seest, I can- 
265 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

not see. O Father Francis, where from my heart 
has gone the love of Christ ? 

FRANCIS. Unto mine, Brother. For when He 
gave me thy love. He gave me His also. . . . Leo, 
give me thy pen. . . . And thy hand. . . . Now 
by thy hand I will write something. Shut thine 
eyes, little sheep . . . till I bid thee open them. 
[Guiding the hand o/leo, francis begins writing. 
Brother Pen goeth swiftly . . . this that we 
write pleaseth him. . . . Dost thou know what it 
is that we have written — thou, and I, and he ? 
LEO. No, Father. 

FRANCIS [reading]. ' The Lord bless thee and keep 
thee. The Lord make His face to shine upon thee. 
[FRANCIS slowly rises, leg kneels. 
The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon 
thee, and give thee peace. . . . Brother Leo, the 
Lord bless thee, as thou hast blest me.' [He gives 
him the parchment.] When thou art in trouble show 
this to Brother Sin. 
LEO. Brother Sin ! 

FRANCIS. Do not be afraid of Brother Sin. He 
is a leper ; but when thou hast washed his feet, then 
shalt thou see ... in them . . . the wounds of 
Christ. Yea, when for us Christ died — with Him 
also died — Brother Sin. 

[leg rises to his feet with a face of ecstasy. 
LEG. Now am I made whole ! . . . Ah, Maker 
Christ ! Maker Christ ! 

[He goes back to the Crucifix, draws away the 
curtain, and kneels, francis, seeing him 
rapt in prayer, turns softly, and with great pain 
hobbles back to his cell. 
266 



SISTER DEATH 




Scene I. : Outside the cell of 
St. Francis. 

Scene II. : Inside. 
Both scenes have as their 
setting, or proscenium, a 
low broad archway contending 
almost the full breadth of the 
stage, with walls severely 
plain and unadorned, and 
side exits to right and left. 
Behind runs the breadth of a 
narrow corridor, to which 
the floor rises by two steps set in the thickness of the wall. Beyond 
that is the exterior of St. Francis" cell, occupying an angle of the 
corridor. Over the door of the cell, to left-centre, is a grille, and 
between the door and the corner of the passage a low niche or bench. 
Before the foreground arch two bell-ropes descend from the roof, 
and are hitched to the wall on each side. 

In Scene II. everything beyond the corridor is removed to make 
way for the interior of St. Francis' cell, which thus appears on a 
raised level above the foreground. 

Scene I. ; On the bench sits Brother Juniper, falling to sleep 
and jerking himself awake again. Enter Brother Rufus ; he un- 
hitches the rope to the left, crosses himself and begins to ring for 
Angelus. Both before and while he does so, there has been knock- 
ing at the outer gate. 

RUFUS [as he rings]. Ave Maria, gratia plena, 
Dominus tecum. 

[The words go off into a mumble, juniper, after 

trying mechanically to join in, desists : sleep 

overcoming him. 

Enter from the right, in haste, brother humble, 

with keys hanging from his girdle. At his back 

267 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

the knocking repeats itself. Seeing brother 
RUFUS, he halts. 

HUMBLE. Brother Rufus. 

RUFUS [raising his voice a little, to indicate that he is 
doing a religious exercise, and is not to be interrupted], 
Sancta Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus 
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. 

HUMBLE. Where 's Father Prior ? 

RUFUS. Amen. ... I know not, Brother. 

HUMBLE. They 're at the gate again. The Father 
said I was to let in none. 

RUFUS. Do as he tells you. That 's what he told 
me. 

HUMBLE. They won't stop knocking. 

RUFUS. Go, see who they are. 

HUMBLE. I know already. They came yesterday. 
Now there 's more of them. 

RUFUS. From Assisi ? 

HUMBLE. Yes. All the road 's black with them. 

RUFUS [hitching back the rope.] They 're waiting for 
the other bell to ring, to tell them that the Pover- 
ello 's dead ! Then they '11 feel safe, and sure of him. 

HUMBLE [going up to JUNIPER, and prodding him 
softly]. Brother Juniper. ... Is Father Prior in 
there ? 

[juniper opens his eyes, looks at him without 
intelligence, and shuts them again. 

RUFUS. Leave him ! He 's worn with watching. 
Let him sleep ! 

HUMBLE. Then is the Poverello sleeping too ? 

[The knocking grows louder, 

RUFUS. If he were that would wake him. Come, 
come ! Get on ! 

268 



SISTER DEATH 

HUMBLE. Oh, me ! The world, the world ! Eh ! 
How it 's with us ! 

[He goes out ; the knocking gets more insistent. 

JUNIPER [starting up\. What for 's that knocking ? 

RUFUS. Ears that will not hear, deafer than yours 
or mine. Nay, here he comes. 

Enter the father prior, preceded by Brothers 
carrying beams of wood and crowbars. They 
cross from left to right, taking their instructions 
by a backward glance, to which the prior replies 
by a gesture. 

RUFUS. Father Prior, it 's the citizens again. 
PRIOR. I know it. Brother. 
RUFUS. There 's more of them now ! 
PRIOR. I know that also. 
RUFUS. We shall need strong walls. 
PRIOR. We have them. [Loud knocking. 

RUFUS. And stronger gates. 
PRIOR. Enough ! You need not fear. 
RUFUS. There are more coming. 
PRIOR. All the world may come ! They shall not 
spoil us of him. 

[A fresh thunder of knocking, juniper, who 
has risen at the prior's entrance, and has 
watched with apprehension the carrying of the 
beams, now stumbles forward and kneels at the 
side of his Superior. 
juniper. O Father Prior 1 Don't keep them 
from him : let him die in peace ! 

PRIOR. Go back to your post. Brother. 
RUFUS. Father, last night I was at the gate. She 
that you spoke of came — ^the Lady Giacomina, 
269 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PRIOR. At what hour ? 

RUFUS. 'Twas midnight. Father. 

PRIOR. Yes ? 

RUFUS. I sent her away. 

Enter brother humble hurriedly. Seeing the 
FATHER prior, he stops, mokes obeisance, and 
waits permission to speak. 

PRIOR. My son, what is it ? 

humble. The citizens demand speech with you, 
Father. 

PRIOR. They ' demand,' do they ? 

humble. Aye. There 's a great crowd. It 's 
growing. Father. 

PRIOR. Take others with you. Bid the crowd 
stand back ; then let in three. 

[Exit BROTHER HUMBLE. 

RUFUS. I think we shall need help. 

PRIOR. Help is at hand. In the Sacristy we have 
arms. 

JUNIPER [kneeling at the door of the cell]. O little 
lover of men, pray for us sinners now in the hour of 
thy death ! 

PRIOR. She came last night, you say ? 

RUFUS. With her two sons : 

In great haste. Father, having journeyed far. 

PRIOR. Wherefor ? 

RUFUS. Wishing to see him ere he died. 

PRIOR. How did she know ? You did not send 
his letter ? 

RUFUS. No, Father, no ! She said that she had 
heard the Poverello calling to her : ' Sister ! Sister 
Giacomina ! ' — his very voice. Father ! 
270 



SISTER DEATH 

PRIOR. And you ? 

RUFUS. I said that he was very near his end ; and 
could see nobody. ' Earthly things,' I said, ' he 
hath put away — all frailties, all affections, all 
desires, — giving himself to God.' As you told me, 
so I told her. Father. 

PRIOR. What said she then ? 

RUFUS. She wept. Oh ! very grievously she 
wept, begging to be let in. There, at the gate, I 
left her — ^weeping. 

PRIOR. Thus, at the last, disguised in charity, 
the Devil comes tempting him, — seeking, by subtle 
ways of mortal weakness, to dim his glory. 

Enter humble, followed by three Citizens, and 
several Friars ; from the opposite side other 
Friars enter. 

HUMBLE. Here they are. Father Prior. 

PRIOR. Why have ye come ? 

1st citizen. Shortly — to speak with you. 

PRIOR. I heard that you had orders for me. No ? 

1st CITIZEN. Only to make request. 

PRIOR. Well, let us hear it ? 

1st CITIZEN. The Poverello, Father ; lives he still ? 

PRIOR. He lives ; he hath slept ; he is awake 
again. [The Citizens exchange looks. 

1st CITIZEN. That is good news. Father Prior ; 
very good news. We come to see him. 

PRIOR. Ye may not. 

2nd citizen. Out yonder they expect it. 

PRIOR. I am sorry. Be patient awhile. 

3rd citizen. Patient ! Till when ? 

2n 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

PRIOR [making the sign of the Cross]. Till he be 
dead . If ye beheld him now ye would not know him. 

2nd citizen. But we should know the marks, — 
the miracle. Father. 

3rd citizen. Aye ! Let us see those ! 

PRIOR. Adulterous generation ! Ye seek a sign. 
But it shall not be given. 

1st citizen. We seek naught but our own. His 
body belongs 

PRIOR. To God, Brother. 

2nd citizen. To Assisi. 

3rd citizen. Here was he born, and here shall 
he be buried ! 

1st citizen. Here in San Giorgio. The city 
demands it. 

PRIOR. What is your fear ? 

2nd citizen, a body gone to Rome ! 

1st citizen. Look : when he dies, he will become 
a saint : work miracles, and all the world will 
hear, and flock like crows. So, where the body 
lies, the glory of him will be. 

3rd citizen. And all the fame. 

2nd citizen. So give us surety — first that he 
bides here now ; next that ye take him not, when 
he is dead, wholly away from us. 

3rd citizen. Nay, nor in pieces either ! Ye 
would do that which in the wilderness was done with 
bread ; and by your miracles so multiply him, 
till all our honour and profit of him be gone. 

1st citizen. The body is ours. Prior ; and we be 
here to see to it ! 

PRIOR. Living or dead, he is in God's hands. 
Brother. 

272 



SISTER DEATH 

1st citizen. Aye, when we have the holding up 
of them ! But now he is in yours, and in the hands 
of my Lord Bishop : and that means of Rome. 

2nd citizen. Thither he goes not ! 

[Murmurs are heard from the crowd, 

1st citizen. Hark ! Yonder be men, hungry 
for what is theirs, and shall be theirs : else, 
from this place we stir not. 

2nd citizen. Nor shall any ! 

3iiD citizen. Whole or in pieces ; be he alive 
or dead — he goes not hence ! If here we find him 
not, we '11 tear your roof down. 

PRIOR. Enough ! I '11 hear no more. Hence, 
get you gone ! [The murmurs of the crowd increase, 

1st citizen. Nothing comes out till we have seen 
the body. 

PRIOR. Go : for ye shall not ! 

2nd citizen. Take not too long over his dying. 
Father Prior ! The people grow impatient. 

PRIOR. Forth with these brawlers ! Go ! Bar 
up the gates ! 

[The Friars take hold of the three Citizens and 
begin thrusting them out. 

1st citizen. We are not gone. Prior ! 

2nd citizen. We '11 see you starve ! 

3rd citizen. Bark ! Bite ! — Skin the whole 
pack of you ! [They go out, forced by the Brethren. 

RUFUS. Of a truth, Father, — doth he yet live ? 

prior. Aye, so, — by a great miracle. Come, 
Brothers, to the Sacristy ; arm yourselves ! 

[juniper runs forward and kneels before the 
father prior. 

JUNIPER. O Father Prior, let them come in ! 
S 273 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Father Prior, let them come in ! They have but 
to look on his face, they will be blest ! Let them 
see him, and they will be satisfied. 

[The FATHER PRIOR goes out, followed by others. 
LEO. Come, Brother. We must obey. 
JUNIPER. No, no ! They are killing him ! If he 
hears tell of it, he '11 die ! Oh, don't die. Father 
dear ! Don't die ! Don't die ! 

[Exit LEO, JUNIPER kneels at the cell door. 
The Lord bless thee and keep thee. Father ! The 
Lord make His face shine on thee ! The Lord lift 
up the light of His countenance upon thee, and give 
thee peace. Father ! 

[A clattering of arms is heard, juniper stops 
his ears, and bows weeping at the door of the cell. 



curtain 



274 



SISTER DEATH 







Scene II. : Inside the cell. 
Francis lies stretched on a 
trestle bed, Juniper sits at 
the foot watching him. Across 
the window a curtain is 
drawn. One whole side of 
the cell lies open toward the 
corridor which runs between 
it and the arch. 



FRANCIS. Brother Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Aye, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Where is . . . Brother Light ? 

JUNIPER [lifting a corner of the curtairi]. He 's here. 
Father, — looking at you. 

FRANCIS. Draw — draw it. Brother ! [juniper 
draws back the curtain.] Welcome, Light ! Oh, 
welcome. Light ! 

juniper. Have you slept. Father ? 

FRANCIS. In my life more times than I ought. 
Brother. So now I must pay back what I owe. 

JUNIPER. Then you did not sleep. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Sister Sleep came and looked at me, 
but could not stay. 

JUNIPER. Are you in pain. Father ? 

FRANCIS. All night long she was my comforter. 
She is here still. 

JUNIPER. What will I do for you, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Sing to me. Juniper. 
275 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER. Mine is an ugly voice, Father. 
FRANCIS. So is Brother Frog's ; yet doth he 
praise God for it. 

JUNIPER. Shall I praise God for my ugly voice ? 
FRANCIS. Often have I praised Him for it : it 
hath been very sweet to me. 

JUNIPER. Our mouths are foul things, Father. 
FRANCIS. So are our bodies ; yet we thank God 
for them, and for our other afflictions also. 

JUNIPER. Aye, so we do. Father. 'Tis a great 
mystery. 

FRANCIS. Therefore, sing. Brother, 
JUNIPER. What shall I sing ? 
FRANCIS. Of light. Brother, and water, and fire, 
and Mother Earth. Hast thou forgot what I taught 
thee? 

JUNIPER [making the sign of the Cross], In nomine 
Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. 
Praised be my Lord for all being. 
And namely praise for our Brother Sun, 
Who bringeth us day and light for seeing ; 
With joy he cometh his course to run. 
FRANCIS [feebly, in a whisper, with pauses]. 
Praised be my Lord for Brother Wind, 
And air, and cloud, and calms of weather ; 
Whereby all creatures Thou dost bind 
Into one fellowship together. 
JUNIPER. Praised be my Lord for Brother Fire, 
By whom comes light through the darkness long ; 
Warm, and pleasant, and dear to desire. 
Mighty is he and very strong. 
FRANCIS. Praised be my Lord for Sister Water ; 
Ever of service hath she been, 
276 



SISTER DEATH 

Waiting on men, sweet running Water, 
She is humble, and precious, and clean. 

[While he sings the rest of the Brothers enter 
very quietly, and move gradually nearer. 
They have concealed under their habits long 
daggers, maces and swords. 
JUNIPER. Praised be my Lord, for all who give 

Pardon to others for His love's sake, 
FRANCIS. And meekly endure in pains to live ; 

In Him they rest, and in Him shall wake. 
JUNIPER. Praised be my Lord for Sister Death . . . 
No mortal body shall she spare. . . . 

[He begins weeping. 
FRANCIS. Brother Frog, why hast thou ceased 
singing ? 

JUNIPER. I cannot more, Father. 
FRANCIS. Who is here ? 
LEO. All of us. Father. 
FRANCIS. All ? Wherefor ? Is it a feast ? 
LEO. Not a feast, a vigil. Father. 
JUNIPER [weeping]. O Father, for the love of 
God, don't, don't go and leave us ! 
FRANCIS. We are all in God, Brother. 
JUNIPER. Ah, you may talk, you may talk. 
Father ! And I 'm a sinner, and we be all sinners ; 
— ^and the Lord isn't in us — ^not yet : only now and 
again, maybe, when we aren't thinking of Him. 
FRANCIS. Where is Father Prior ? 
RUFUS. He is not here, little Father. 
LEO. He has been called away. You wish to see 
him. Father ? 
FRANCIS. Aye ! 

LEO. I will tell him. [Exit leo. 

277 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Juniper. 

JUNIPER. Yes, Father ? 

FRANCIS. Where is Sister Giacomina ? 

JUNIPER. Surely, I know not. 

FRANCIS. Did she not come ? 

JUNIPER. No, Father. 

FRANCIS. Last night — ^who came ? 

JUNIPER. None that I know of. Father. 

FRANCIS. There was a bell, and knocking at the 
gate ; and voices — I thought I knew. 

JUNIPER. Ah ! Why must you choose to lie so 
nearby, Father : and hear all the ringing and the 
knocking ? 

FRANCIS. Sister Bell hath a sweet sound. 

JUNIPER. Aye ; to them that like hearing her. 

FRANCIS. Sister Giacomina . . . why tarriest 
thou? 

[rufus stands conscience-stricken : other Brothers 
hneel to pray. Enter giles, bringing food. 
Father Prior hath not come ? 

BERNARD. No, Father. 

GILES. Here is food for you, little Father. 

FRANCIS. Not yet, little Brother. . . . Other sheep 
I have, not of this fold ; them also must I bring. 

GILES. Nay, but for our sake. Father, so that we 
may have joy in thee. Eat, I pray thee, of thy 
son's venison. 

FRANCIS. Bleat not, little sheep ! . . . When I 
eat . . . ye shall all eat with me. . . . Brother Rufus. 

RUFUS. Father ? 

FRANCIS. When thou art at the gate, I bid thee 
think always of sweet Sister Charity. . . . Brothers, 
why are ye so silent ? 

278 



SISTER DEATH 

BERNARD. We were praying, Father. 

FRANCIS. I pray that your prayers be all answered. 
[rufus utters a sharp sob, stumbles forward, and 
kneels down before francis. 

RUFUS. Father ... I was at the gate last night 
but had not charity. 

FRANCIS. Wast thou so. Brother ? 

RUFUS. Ah, pardon me that I did not bring thee 
good ! 

FRANCIS. Good is wdth God, Brother. 

RUFUS. Ah, pardon that I failed not to do thee 
harm ! 

FRANCIS. What harm. Brother ? 

RUFUS. I sent her away. Father ! She came, and 
I sent her away ! 

FRANCIS. Who ? 

RUFUS. Sweet Sister Charity, and the Lady 
Giacomina. 

FRANCIS. Sister Giacomina ! . . . Now I know 
thy mind was to be with me. . . . Brother, I thank 
thee for thy news. Thou hast given me- — joy. . . . 
How seemed she ? 

Re-enter brother leo. 

RUFUS. Very eager, Father, very sorrowful, and 
tender to any word of thee. Two young men, her 
sons, stood by her. I left them weeping. 

FRANCIS. Welcome, Sister Tears ! . . . Brothers, 
leave me alone awhile. Do not go far ! Juniper, 
stay near me. 

\They retire to the forecourt, juniper stays 
between, 

279 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

JUNIPER. You will take care of yourself. Father ? 
FRANCIS. Sister Care will be with me. 
JUNIPER. Make thy peace with her. Father ; for 
often thou hast neglected her. 
FRANCIS. So I will. Brother. 

[Kneeling in the forecourt, the Brothers begin 

praying. Now and then between the words of 

FRANCIS, the deep mutter of their praying is 

heard, beginning loud and dying away. 

BROTHERS. Dominc, Domine, Deus salutis meae, 

in die clamavi, et nocte coram te : intret oratio mea 

in conspectu tuo, Domine ! Ostende mihi, Domine, 

misericordiam tuam ! 

FRANCIS. Sister Care, come and let me see thy 
face ! Why art thou so worn, and sorrowful ? 
Surely thou hast wept long, and hast neither eaten 
nor slept. Go to sleep. Sister Care ! I will watch 
over thee. 

Enter father prior. He stands behind for a while ; 
JUNIPER, by signals, informs him that francis 
has asked to be left alone. He kneels, facing 
away from francis toward the kneeling Brother- 
hood. 

BROTHERS. Rcdimc me, Domine, et miserere mei. 
Exaudi, Deus, orationem meam, et ne despexeris 
deprecationem meam ; intende in me, et exaudi me. 
Aufer a me iniquitates meas. 

FRANCIS. Ay, come, be not afraid ! Hide not thy- 
self from me now ! Come, Sister Pain, let me look 
on thee, let me taste thy breath. Ah, thou art 
heavy, thou art heavy upon me, Sister Pain. Pity 
thy poor ass that stumbles because of his load ! Lo, 
280 



SISTER DEATH 

to left, lo, to right, where shall I turn me now ? O 
Angel of the Lord, which standest before me in the 
way, — O flaming sword, why keepest thou me from 
Paradise ? Have I not loved thee enough. Sister 
Pain ? Have I not learned all things from thee, 
whose eyes did look into the eyes of my dying Lord, 
— ^yea, the lips, yea, the eyes, yea, the sweet breast ! 
O Christ, Thou lover of men. Thou lover of men ! 

PRioii. Now Cometh he to the Cross. Now is he 
with Christ ! 

BROTHERS. Corpus Domini nostri, Jesu Christi, 
custodiat animam meam in vitam aeternam. 

FRANCIS. Yea, this is a field, and these be flowers 
that I see ! Pluck not these, Brother, which have 
but one limb to hold up heads to the light. Give 
them thy hand. Brother, give them thy hand ! 

PRIOR. Now he doth look upon Paradise. 

BROTHERS. Eccc Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata 
mundi. 

FRANCIS. Brother Juniper ! 

[He tries to lift himself but fails. 

JUNIPER. Father ? 

FRANCIS. Thou art simple. Brother Juniper, but 
thou art wise. 

JUNIPER. I was never wise, Father ; God forbid ! 

FRANCIS. Thou didst speak truth to me, when I 
would not hear. 

JUNIPER. Did I so. Father ? 

FRANCIS. For now is my body past use, and yet I 
live. . . . Brother Ass, I have been too hard on 
thee! 

JUNIPER [weeping]. I told thee of it. Father. 
Often I told thee ! 

281 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

FRANCIS. Bear me — ^bear me out into the light. 
[They come and carry his bed out into the space be- 
fore the cell. JUNIPER kneels weeping at his side . 
FRANCIS. Father Prior . . . [The prior comes 
and stands near him.] I pray you Hft my hand and 
lay it on the head of this Juniper. [The prior does 
so.] The Lord hath set His mark on thee, [juniper 
retires.] . . . Brother Leo. . . . [leg comes for- 
ward and kneels, the PRIOR assists the hand o/francis.] 
. . . The Lord bless and keep thee ! The Lord 
make His face to shine on thee ! . . . [leg retires.] 
. , . Brother Bernard. [The same action is repeated.] 
. . . Brother Giles. Bleat not, little sheep ! . . . 
Brother Conrad. . . . Brother Matteo, the Lord 
strengthen thee ! . . . Brother Rufus, the Lord open 
to thee! . . . Brother Simon. . . . Brother Angelo. 
. . . Brother Jerome, the Lord be a light unto thee. 
. . . Brother John. . . . Father Prior — Brother 
Elias, I thank thee ! 

PRIOR [kneeling]. Bless me also, O my Father I 
FRANCIS [taking the cord of the prior' s girdle, and 
kissing it]. The Lord hath given thee my flock : be 
thou its blessing ! . . . Ah, now cometh Sister Joy ! 
Take thou my hand and lead me, so that I. may see 
light ! [The sun shines full on him.] See, oh, see ! 
He cometh. He cometh ! 

O Brother Sun, 
Rejoicing, thou dost run 
Unto all lands ! 
Therefore, I bid thee take 
This heart in thy hands. 
Of a poor little one 
Whose journey ings are all done. 
282 



SISTER DEATH 

BROTHERS. Miserere mei, Deus, secundum mag- 
nam misericordiam tuam, etc. (Psalm 51.) 
FRANCIS. And when thou dost make 
To rise from thy wings 
A new East, and dost wake 
(For our dear Lord's sake). 
Where new day begins — 
Beast, reptile, and bird, 
Cattle, and herd. 
And all creeping things ; 
Then cry for me 
Unto all thou dost see, — 
' On a Tree of great mercy 
Christ died for thee ! ' 
BROTHERS. Dominc, clamavi ad te : exaudi me : 
intende voci meae, cum clamavero ad te, etc. 
(Psalm 140.) 

FRANCIS. Strong are its roots 
All storms to stem ; 
Twelve manner of fruits 
Its branches do bear 
For all that draw near ; 
Yea, yea, and the leaves. 
Though all men be thieves. 
He giveth, nor grieves. 
For the healing of them. 
BROTHERS. Eripe me, Domine, ab homine malo ; 
a viro iniquo eripe me. Domine, Domine, virtus 
salutis meae, etc. (Psalm 139.) 
FRANCIS. O Brother Sun, 

How swiftly thou goest 
The way thou knowest, 
Now my day is done ! 
283 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Bear me in the beams 
Of thy light as it streams 
From East unto West, 
Till I come to the Breast 
Of the Life I love best ! 
There shall I find rest. 
BROTHERS. De profundis elamavi ad te, Domine : 
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Si iniquitates ob- 
servaveris, Domine, Domine, quis sustinebit ? 

[The Friars cease praying. Outside is heard a 
murmuring of the crowd. 
FRANCIS. Now see I the Body of Christ multi- 
plied for men ! Not as bread, nor on the altar doth 
it show : but in the homes, and the highways and 
the market-places, manifest through flesh and 
blood. . . . This is His Body which was given for 
me. 

BERNARD. Look ! He hath a vision ! 
FRANCIS. Bread ! Give me bread. Brother ! 
[GILES brings bread, francis takes, and breaks 
it as he is speaking. 
O Lord, Lover Christ, when saw I Thee hungry, or 
sick, or poor, or in prison, and have not ministered 
unto Thee ? 

[A breath of wonder escapes the listening Friars. 
prior. Peace ! 

\The murmurs of the crowd grow louder, 
FRANCIS. This I break . . . 
This take ... 
For Love's sake ! 
[He holds out the bread toward them. The Brothers 
take off their sandals and approach, each in 
turn to receive kneeling the bread he offers them. 
284 



SISTER DEATH 

FRANCIS. Take. . . . Take. . . . Take. . . , 
Enter brother humble, running, 

HUMBLE. Father Prior, Father Prior ! . . . They 
are crying for him. Father ; they are tearing at the 
gates ! 

PRIOR. Go ! Quickly — some of you ! 
FRANCIS. Take. . . . Take. . . . Take. . . . 
[The Brothers who have received their Com- 
munion begin to go out. Cries are heard : 
' Bring out the Poverello ! Bring out the 
Poverello ! ' The shoutings and confusion 
increase. 
JUNIPER. O Father, he 's dying ; he 's dying. 
Father ! Don't fight for him ! Let him die in peace ! 
FRANCIS. Take. . . . Take. . . . 
PRIOR [with a sudden inspiration]. Toll the bell. 
Brother ! 

[juniper, weeping and beating his breast, runs to 

the bell and begins tolling it. As he does so the 

noise of clamour ceases ; a moan of love and 

tenderness rises from the crowd and dies away, 

FRANCIS. Take. . . . Take. . . . Take. . . . 

[He falls bach exhausted as he comes to the last, 

O Bread of Life ! O Body of Love ! O Maker of 

men ! 

[The tolling of the bell goes on. The voice of the 
crowd is heard, chanting the ' Be Profundis,^ 
FRANCIS. Open ! Open the gates of Righteousness ! 
RUFus. He bids me open the gate. Father ! O 
Father, let me open the gate I 

PRIOR. Open ! Let them come in ! 

[Exit RUFUS, running, 
285 



LITTLE PLAYS OF ST. FRANCIS 

Earthly weapons shall not avail us now. Lay by 
your arms. Brothers. 

[juniper stops tolling, and stands rapt, expectant. 
The rest kneel, 

FRANCIS. Take! . . . I thank. . . . I thank. . . . 

PRIOR [kneeling at the feet o/francis]. Give us thy 
blessing. Father, for we are sinners ! 

FRANCIS. O Word made Flesh ! O Body of Love ! 
O Maker of men ! Take ! . . . 

[He tries to speak further, but fails. 

PRIOR. Yea, tell us. Father ! 

FRANCIS. Man is His making. Brother ! Man is 
His making ! 

PRIOR. Aye : till by man came sin. 

FRANCIS. His making : He in us ! 

PRIOR. So pray, that He may bring us to His 
keeping ! 

FRANCIS. Without . . . man . . . Christ . . . were 
not . . . made. 

PRIOR. Thou speakest mystery. We cannot 
understand. 

FRANCIS. Without . . . man . . . Christ . . . were 
not . . . made. Without . . . man . . . [The death 
struggle begins . ] 

Re-enter Brothers, followed by the crowd ; 
all bare their heads and kneel. 

PRIOR [making the sign of the Cross]. Requiem 
aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. 
[All cross themselves and wait in silence. The 
sun sinks, and the stage darkens. 
FRANCIS. Welcome, Sister Death ! 

[He stretches out his arms : brothers leo and 
286 



SISTER DEATH 

BERNARD support Mm. He stays motionless 
for a while. It grows darker. He rises in 
their arms with a last effort. 
Welcome, Brother Sun ! [He falls hack dead. 

CURTAIN 

Before the Curtain comes one of the Brothers, 
and speaks. 
O Brother Sun, 
Rejoicing, thou dost run 
Unto all lands ! 
Therefore, I bid thee take 
This heart in thy hands. 
Of a poor little one 
Whose journeyings are all done 
And when thou dost make 
To rise from thy wings 
A new East, and dost wake • 
(For our dear Lord's sake). 
Where new day begins,— 
Beast, reptile, and bird. 
Cattle, and herd. 
And all creeping things ; 
Then cry for me 
Unto all thou dost see,— 
' On a Tree of great mercy 
Christ died for thee 1 * 



printed in Great Britain by T, and A. Constable Ltd. 
at the University Press, Edinburgh 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date; April 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 




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